Sensitivity
by Ravenclaw992
Summary: The Dark One curse has granted Rumpelstiltskin the gifts of immortality, magic...and heightened senses. When his growing sensitivity to Belle drives him mad, he concocts a cure. Unfortunately, the potion does the exact opposite and only increases his sensitivity. There was no escaping Belle, anymore. The tables had turned; he was her prisoner. Rumbelle. Skin Deep timeline.
1. Sensitivity

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time; ABC does. The characters of Rumpelstiltskin and Belle are not mine. **_

_**A/N: So, I came up with this idea while re-watching the season 2 episode "Lacey". It occurred to me that Rumpel as the Dark One has heightened senses due to the fact that his spinning is disturbed when he hears Belle crying in her dungeon and I wanted to play off the idea of how troublesome his heightened senses might be. Thus, this story was born. If any of you have read my story "Sunshine and Rain", it will be in that same humorous vein. In other words, I hope everyone enjoys it. **_

_**Sensitivity**_

The Dark One curse was a seductive blend of immortality, magic, and power. The most selfish and corrupt monarchs in the realm only ever dreamed of losing themselves in its delectable darkness whilst cowering on their knees, reduced to common beggars before the man who currently possessed the curse. Its reputation was beheld by every breathing soul in the realm, its ferocity the source of nightmares in the heads of children and adults alike.

Rumpelstiltskin learned a long time ago that—dreary as the curse may be—it had its unbeatable benefits. The magic alone was only slightly more addictive than opium. For the past three centuries, all he had to do was snap his fingers and he would have anything he desired apart from compromising one's free will and bringing the dead back to life. How easy was that?

How much precious time had he wasted as a petty human over the most mundane things? Now he only resorted to manual labor for the sole purpose of cooking and that was because magic and food mixed about as well as cats and water. Even the mute Enora had scraped together more savory meals than the cardboard glop that never resembled scrambled eggs, half-awake or otherwise.

Furthermore, he could wondrously transport to any spot in the Enchanted Forest so long as he clearly pictured the destination in his mind. He learned the hard way that thinking things like _I remember it being next to a lake_ would land him _in _the lake. He supposed he should be lucky this world didn't have any active volcanoes.

All of his senses were heightened—not to the point of madness, but a tiny boost in level. Taste, touch, smell, hearing, sight; the entire kittenkaboodle. It made for a good alarm system in his castle. He never aged, though you could hardly appreciate it under his scaly golden complexion and unsettling lizard pupils.

Of course, there were always two sides to every coin. The Dark One curse certainly had its downsides that trumped the beneficial qualities some days.

It wasn't even the fact that he was burdened with his shame for losing Bae for nearly three hundred years or having to pop in and out of his sanctuary every time some lousy wretch dared voice his true name. Oh, how he despised the rumor mill. _Oh, did you hear that Rumpelstiltskin—_pop! _I think I'll buy these leather pants because I spotted Rumpelstiltskin—_pop!

No, that wasn't even the worst part of it, really. No, the part that truly grated on his nerves was the heightened sense of hearing. It was as much his bane as it was his benefit.

During the early days of the curse, if a stray rooster so much as squawked outside his window in the morning, he would tumble out of bed like his sheets were on fire because that single screechy squawk resembled an army of roosters in his ears. He kissed the floor more times than he cared to admit.

Eventually he adjusted to the sensitivity, breaking it in like a new set of leather boots, but that was before he brought the sweet, brave Belle to his castle to stay. In the blink of an eye, he reverted to those early days of the curse. He hadn't lived under the same roof with anyone in 300 years. He forgot how much he hated company in his castle.

At first, all she did was sob in her dismal cell at night. He heard every frantic gasp, every moist drawn-out sniffle, and every cry of anguish from the comfort of his stool at the wheel. It made spinning impossible. He had to toss her a pillow to stifle the weeping sessions.

It was maddening, but thankfully short-lived.

Until he started to tolerate her presence and she became accustomed to calling this miserable castle home, that is.

The sobs relented, only to be replaced with cheerful humming! She hummed while cooking, she hummed while scrubbing, she even hummed while laundering his clothes! Every note, every melodic chord that flowed from her swanlike throat…and she wondered why he never seemed to run out of straw.

Maddening, maddening, maddening.

It wasn't the problem of annoyance, though he wished he could tune her out for even a minute of the day. It was the matter of _fondness_. He _liked _listening to her hum her gentle notes and watching her prance swiftly around his castle with a duster in one hand and a book in the other. That was inconceivable. He tried covering his ears with pillows and stuffing them full with wads of spare silk. Gods, he even resorted to sticking the straw in his ears, but nothing worked.

She was trapped inside his head without giving any indication of leaving.

Finally, there came a day when Rumpelstiltskin could no longer take it.

Once his beautiful maid had retired to her chamber for the evening, he locked himself in the tower that hosted his circular library and worked feverishly into the night to concoct a potion that would lessen the sensitivity a bit. Even if it was temporary, he would gladly take regular doses if it meant regaining a shred of sanity from this flu.

His palms always grew sweaty, his heart raced like a wild horse, he jumped up from his seat every time he heard her coming his way. How many times had he drifted off from his work, snagged by whichever tune Belle was singing on the first floor? How many times had he caught himself humming the exact same song under his breath when he knew the words and tapping his shoe on the floor?

Too many to count, that was for sure.

He held the colorful glass vial up to the moonlight, the cerulean liquid shimmering as it sloshed inside. A layer of frothy foam coated the surface, the bubbles rising to the rim. He sniffed it suspiciously—odorless. Good enough to drink? He would see in a moment. It wasn't as if it could kill him. Regardless of what most people believed, there were worse things than death.

He had never tried this particular potion before, but what was life without a few risks to keep things exciting? In one upended flourish of the wrist, he sucked down the contents until there was nothing left on his tongue but his own saliva. He set the vial down on a table and blinked curiously, waiting for something to happen.

He blinked.

He waited. Hmm.

Well, he didn't _feel_ any different. He examined himself from every angle in an ornate full-length mirror, searching for any external side effects. It was infuriating how often that happened. One time he messed up a spell so horribly that it turned his gold-brown hair the color of winter's first snow and he had to wear a turban for a week.

But this…this was going rather well. Every last body part was in the correct spot, there were no funny discolorations, he had all his teeth, askew as they may be…

"Tralala," he tested his voice, but it came out just as shrill as he meant it to be. It wasn't grating or unpleasant in pitch. _Two plus two equals four. I am Rumpelstiltskin, the all-powerful Dark One, vanquisher of pesky jellyfish with wings, _he thought to himself. Okay, so his brain wasn't a sluggish mess, either. He hooked his thumbs in his vest and smirked boldly at his reflection. _I think you've outdone yourself this time, Mr. 'Stiltskin. _

Nothing like a perfect brew before bed. Either that or a potion that was disappointingly inert. Perhaps it needed extra time to adjust the settings. Was there a slight change in his hearing or was that his imagination playing cruel tricks on his mind?

It occurred to him upon descending the library stairs that it was supremely quiet in his castle. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. More specifically, not even the mouse that lived in his dungeon. He cocked his head to the side to listen. No sobbing, no screaming, no humming, no snoring…

Nothing. He smiled proudly, his unsatisfactory teeth flashing in the moonlight.

Peace and quiet.

_Just the way I like it. _

….

Rumpelstiltskin usually never obtained much sleep during the night since the Dark One curse acted as an everlasting boost of energy. Two hours for him would easily replenish his energy in the way seven hours would for any other mortal being. But tonight he was completely restless. He did nothing but toss and turn, flipping between the sheets worse than a fish frying in a pan.

There was something wrong with the blanket.

He realized it after an hour of flopping. The way it rubbed nonstop across the length of his body irritated him until he ground his teeth together. Even though it was woven from the finest silks this land could offer, it felt more like he was covered in rough patches of straw. It itched, it chafed, it was too hot and heavy.

It was odd because he never experienced this problem prior to tonight. It wasn't because of Belle, either, since she was strictly forbidden access to his private chambers. He simply zipped his clothes down to the front hall on her washing days via magic.

Anyway, she didn't seem the type to play a childish prank. He knew he had done nothing to spite her recently. Even if he had, she knew better than anyone alive in this land that the wrath of Rumpelstiltskin was a nasty one, just by witnessing Robin Hood's brief confinement in this castle.

At last, he grew frustrated enough to kick off the blanket and curled up with only a thin sheet cloaking his lean figure. Sleep continued to elude him, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks with the rapid pace of ladybug wings. Bristles—that's what they were. Miniature bristles that raked the skin of his eyelids until they grew sore enough to ache. Who ever knew it was such an impossible task not to blink?

What the hell was wrong with him? Was he ill? Was it some kind of exotic mind-festering disease?

By gods, there was something wrong with the sheet, too!

Growling monstrously, his legs thrust the last layer away, allowing it to pool over the discarded blanket on the floor. Now there was nothing covering him but the clothes on his back. Once more, he closed his eyes and willed sleep to take him away in its peaceful embrace….

His leg was the first limb to move on the mattress, bending and uncoiling in a circular motion. His shoulder rolled, his palm pawed the bed. His whole body writhed and squirmed. His eyes snapped open, glowing furiously in the darkness.

_"Ugh!"_ He groaned to the vaulted ceiling, rubbing the heels of his palms over his eyes.

Whipping the pillow from underneath his head, he buried his face into it and angrily pounded his feet on the mattress. The pillow failed to ease his frustration—it suffocated him cruelly and heated his skin worse than a scorching flame atop his nose. He tossed it away to join the infernal sheets.

What in all the realms was happening here? Now his attire bothered him!

The silky fabric teased his skin, every shift of the material unusual. He might as well have scraped steel tines along his flesh. And the fabric that bunched between his legs…ooh, that did not feel right at all. In a minute, he might be desperate enough to strip free of all clothing, stretch naked atop the bed, and pray that his innocent maid didn't need his immediate assistance until morning.

He glared at the overhead ceiling, loathing every contraction of his muscles. Some contractions felt exquisitely good to the point of mind-numbing ecstasy; others brought cramps. A second later, his brow furrowed. That was strange.

His vision had heightened with the onset of the Dark One curse, but tonight it was incredibly sharp. Sharper than if he held a magnifying glass to his eye, in fact. Nothing escaped his notice, not the fine cracks in the stone or the feathery film of dust settling in the corners or the different shades of gray that he never even realized existed.

Unable to take the stiffness and stillness of his body, he flung himself off the mattress and began to pace like a caged animal. The floor was especially cold underneath his bare feet. It'd be easier to walk on a solid slab of ice. The wind filtering through the window brushed his arm and he shivered from the exuberant caress. He scratched his head quizzically, making a thoughtful _hmph. _

"Ow, ow, ow!" His nails had somehow transformed into razors, grinding over his skull without mercy. He flexed his fingers in front of his face, examining the curved nails closely. Nothing different there. They were the same length as when he last examined them a few hours ago.

Why was he so sensitive to everything all of a sudden?

Sensitive.

Oh, no.

This was worse than the unspeakable turban incident. There could be only one reasonable explanation for this unnatural bodily change. The potion he drank a mere hour before…this must be the final result. He kicked the shaggy stretch of carpet at his feet, cursing when it practically gave him carpet burn on his toes.

The potion did the exact opposite of what he needed it to do. Somehow, he messed it up. Instead of _dulling_ his senses, it made everything _over_sensitive. As in: more sensitive than he had been in the first place. Gods, his brain was on the verge of self-destructing from trying to concentrate on all five senses at once!

This was what he deserved for late-night experimenting with magical remedies. Magic apparently didn't solve everything. Everyone in this land assumed it was _so_ _easy_ being him with all this power at his disposal. Hah! Those simpletons had no clue.

Oh, why hadn't he tried the experimental potion on someone else first? The Hatter and Regina were worthy candidates.

He knew one thing for certain. He knew it without a shadow of a doubt, as confidently as he recognized his own name on that burdensome dagger. It would be absolute hell living with Belle tomorrow.

…


	2. Papercut

_**A/N: Hello, fine readers. First off, I'm glad to see that so many people enjoyed the first chapter and here's to hoping you'll stay around for the rest of the fun. I think this chapter is where Rumpel's real trouble begins. There's plenty of Belle involved—but how will he handle it? Well….enjoy! **_

Rumpelstiltskin would be the first to admit that he was a teensy bit possessive of any and all assets to which he staked claim. That was the point of calling them 'possessions', wasn't it? Possessions: as in his sole ownership, to be defended from all those who coveted them. Look, don't touch. Hands off, unless that was some twisted hidden desire to be severed at the wrist, clean through the bone with a snap of his scaly golden fingers. It'd be easy as taking the vile tongue out of the head of that louse of a Sheriff.

Apparently, the guy wasn't a big fan of the game 'Rumpel's Got Your Tongue.'

The name inscribed on that cursed blade was his alone—no sensible mother in this entire realm would grant her child the same name unless she wanted him popping unannounced into her birthing room. The leather pants he often donned, combined with the best of dragon hide vests and cloaks in deep blood red and nighttime black hues were his signature style—no one else dared replicate it unless they wished to be strung up by the laces of their boots in the center of their village. This was his power, his gift, his curse—no one else could claim it. This was his castle, his territory, his breeding ground, his sanctuary. Belle was his caretaker, his prisoner, made to obey his every whim while he magically shielded her precious kingdom from the ongoing Ogre War.

His possessions. His treasures. His, his, his.

Or at least, Belle was his prisoner yesterday.

It wasn't that the contract had been made null and void or that she tried a foolish escape. It was the fact that this inconvenient mishap of increased sensitivity resulted in a change of circumstances within the castle. Role-reversal, so to speak. Unbeknownst to her, Rumpelstiltskin had become _her_ prisoner instead of the other way around. There was absolutely no escaping her.

Every step on stone, no matter how meek, every sweet hum of a tune, every snap of a book closing as she juggled reading and carrying out her early morning chores…It was enough to make him stick his head under his pillow, which felt more like a sack of flour instead of a pillow. With the rosy stripes of sunlight fluttering through the gaps in the curtained window to signal the dawning day, it was harder to ignore the goings-on of the castle.

The distinct aroma of frying eggs tunneled underneath his chamber door, wormed its way under his pillow, and teased his nostrils until a damp circle spread across his mattress. He scrubbed it out with his fingertips. It was bad enough he had a nasty habit of sleeping with his mouth open and drooled over his pillow like a newborn babe. That was another reason he refused to let Belle handle his sheets and pillows—he didn't want anyone to know the Dark One drooled on his pillow. She might not be able to spread it by word of mouth, but there was always a stray dove willing to carry a message if persuaded with crumbs.

The wafting scent of Belle's special tea joined the tantalizing scent of the food and he had to sit upright in bed before another string of saliva dribbled down his chin.

Over the course of the past sleepless hours, Rumpel had begun to understand this sensitivity dilemma. He still hated it, but he could at least come to terms with its meaning. It seemed desires and dislikes were heightened as much as his senses, as they often stemmed from the five senses. Some people didn't favor lemons after having their lips pucker from the sour taste on their tongues. The odor of waste and lack of hygiene was displeasing to the point of nausea, just as the aroma of freshly baked bread dragged one by the nose to the kitchen. Likewise, the sound of a lover's voice had enough power over a man to make him crawl on his knees. The caress of fingertips along the length of his spine often issued a groan from his lips, not that he had that happen recently.

It was all in the senses.

As with the variety of touch, taste, smell, hearing, and sight, Rumpel learned that the sensitivity still took into account all things good and bad in the world. There were pleasurable sensations—now heightened to _really_ pleasurable sensations—and bad sensations which were downgraded to _really_ bad sensations.

If he transported to Regina's castle at the wrong time and caught her in all her naked glory whilst dressing in her gaudy black skirts, it might have been enough to make him skip meals for a week. With his newfound sensitivity, his heart was in danger of overload with that type of disturbing stimuli and he could drop dead. Or, as dead as he could possibly be. Regina would be proud of herself and in turn sicken him to the bone.

As for Belle…everything she was currently doing in all her innocence was immediately labeled under Extremely Pleasurable Sensations. It was driving him up the wall. It made the thought of leaving the tolerable comfort of his bedroom that much harder to grasp.

What was he to do?

The logical thing to do was pretend that everything was normal in the workings of the Dark Castle. Buck it up, puff out his chest, be a man and stomp down the stairs like the master of the castle he was and ultimately give Belle no reason to suspect any weakness. Once the monster's weaknesses were revealed, the hero—or in this case heroine—always went in for the kill.

How hard could it be? All he had to do was ignore the heightened yearnings of the Really Good Sensations and the mind-numbing discomfort of the Really Bad Sensations. That was how he'd separated them: Really Good and Really Bad. The Really Good Sensations could leave him weak at the knees and shivering with pleasure while the Really Bad ones sent icy chills down his spine like Death's claws and have him bent at the waist heaving for mercy.

There was no use complaining. What good had it done him through the seemingly never-ending night? There was no time or way to afford it. _Put a brave face on_, he counseled himself.

But that was the problem.

Rumpelstiltskin was notoriously fearsome, powerful, dark like no other being in the realm, and perhaps a little too flamboyant for the society of the kingdoms to handle during marriage ceremonies, but he had never been _brave_. He might not be the first to admit it, but it was true all the same. Why, his own father was a coward; it ran in the blood of his veins. He had tried so hard to fight it during his human years, but in the end the apple never fell far from the tree. No matter how he strived to convince himself otherwise—and he did every chance he got—his human side would resurface when it was most inconvenient.

There was no fathomable way he could bear to go out there, face Belle, and act like nothing had changed since the last time he stood in her presence. He wouldn't even last the morning with the silvery sound of her singing and the unnerving scrapes of the raw bristles of the broom sweeping across the stone floor. Then there was that dreadful, crisp _snip-snip _of the shears as she tended to the vase of roses in his foyer. It was a task he learned she had a talent for and one he seriously regretted with every cell of his body now.

No, he would never be able to survive a whole day of it. So, he resolved to take the next logical step: lock himself in his chamber and hope this potion wore off in time. That was the tricky part of his concoction. Some magical potions came with time constraints, in which case the effects might wear off after three days and nights. Others required a trigger in order to break, much like curses.

Gods, he hoped this was the type with time constraints. He could last three days and nights, but indefinitely? He might stab himself with his own dagger, especially if he didn't know what the trigger was. It could be anything from a moral lesson to downing a suspicious brew that was only made in the far corners of a different realm while hopping on one foot.

He pulled his legs into a stiff cross-legged position on the mattress. The patch of leather over his most sensitive organ strained uncomfortably and he breathed through the uneasiness. It throbbed in the worst way and heated up until he had no choice but to shift his position to a less painful one. It was either that or rub it. He wasn't ready for _that_ Really Good Sensation quite yet.

The clothes had been the lesser of two evils when the temperature steadily dropped to frigid degrees in the dead of the night. Already the day was growing warm again, but he couldn't very well stride about his castle naked, could he? He'd give Belle the fright of her life and her heart might give out right where she stood. No more maid; that would be the second one he killed. This one wouldn't even be on purpose!

Experimentally, he pressed his thumb to his middle finger, preparing to snap. He never admired how his skin was so luxuriously soft even if his fingernails were suddenly black ingrown razors. That special white rose oil Jefferson brought back from Wonderland really paid off.

_Focus, _he berated himself and immediately stopped caressing his fingers together like he was demanding money from a customer. These Really Good Sensations were proving to be as meddlesome as those Really Bad Sensations. Why couldn't the potion have simply made him _numb?_ He could live with that…maybe.

He snapped his fingers, trying to invoke his magic over the sensitivity. It was the equivalent of a roll of thunder in the suffocating silence of his bedroom. One second passed, two seconds, three…He stretched his mind for a sense of change, rolling his eyes back and forth in their sockets. Everything was still in sharp detail, but maybe that took some time to wear off.

"My name is—_ughh!" _ Still overly shrill, still sensitive. He glared at his fingers, as if it were their fault the counter-spell backfired. He sucked in a deep breath—a gust of icy wind expanding his lungs—and braced his fingers to try again. Perhaps he had to put a little more _feeling_ into it. Hah, right.

_My senses are dull as a flattened doornail. Remind me to never admit that aloud. Where was I? My hearing is not keen, my eyes are not focused and magnified times ten; they are bleary and rheumy. My tongue is not as tasteful, the icky metallic taste on the roof of my mouth not so apparent, my—_

His eyelids snapped open, two shutters jolting upright to expose the amber windows of his darkened soul. His meditation had been disrupted by…he cocked his head to the side. Was he already going mad…der? Hallucinating sounds that weren't even there?

No—there it was again. A hesitant step on the grand staircase that led to the second floor.

Was his maid done with her chores at such an early hour and heading to the library for a book? If so, why was she so unsure when she had never thought twice about it before? Some days he was convinced books were glued to her hands.

He pitched forward as he realized her footsteps were carrying her down the hall to his bedroom, the very opposite of the library. He stiffened on his mattress as she drew closer with every graceful step. _She's near the balustrade….she's halfway down the hall….she's outside my door…_

In a mere three strides, he leaped off the bed and crossed the room to the door. He pressed his ear flat against it. The morning light seeping under his door dimmed as her shadow flitted across it. And yet, she made little sound to give away her presence. He could almost picture her on the other side; meek, hesitant, wringing her hands together as she debated about disturbing him for whatever trifling matter concerned her mind.

_I know you're there, dearie. I can hear you breathing, _he thought to himself, the delicate sighs of her breath distracting him further. She was breathing in and out through the nose and in his mind he imagined that little button of a thing twitching.

_Tap-tap-tap. _The sound of her knocking echoed through his chambers and ricocheted off his eardrums. Only that wasn't quite right at all. That tapping was more like the _whomp-whomp-whomp _of an axe blunting a tree trunk, loud enough to make him regret pressing his ear to the door. He reeled back, almost falling on his butt, holding a clammy palm to his right ear. The world was ringing.

"I'm sorry to bother you so early. I just wondered…are you alright?" Belle's honeyed voice—the caramel Australian accent more poignant this morning—fought its way through the barrier of the door. He laid a shoulder against it, as if that could drive her overwhelming presence away.

"Peachy, dearie," he sardonically replied.

It fell silent beyond the door. What was she waiting for? He refused to open the door and expose himself to stimuli that would most certainly egg on the sensitivity to overload. That sky blue dress he had fashioned for her, after all, was the brightest thing in this entire castle. It would blind him with one glance, never mind the supple body it sheathed. Not that he ever cared to notice….especially during those hours she bent over the dining room table to scrub it clean before dinner.

"You needed something, I assume?" _Or else, why would you be here? _

"Oh, yes," she murmured dreamily, as though she would love nothing more than to dwell outside his chambers all day. Unlikely. "You never came down for your breakfast like you usually do. I was wondering if you were feeling under the weather…or if you were too busy."

His eyebrows rose to his hairline. Those last words were an afterthought strictly meant to shield her true purpose, he was sure of it. She was worried…about his health? How sweet. Was his absence so greatly noted? Or was she simply hoping for a day off due to his failure to leave his bedchamber? With the way Belle ordinarily worked to the bone, he doubted it, but you never could be too sure of good help these days.

Fortunately for him, she had unknowingly provided him an escape route to this sensitivity matter. At least the part that concerned spending an entire day with Miss Stimuli herself.

"Come to think of it, I'm not feeling well at all. Pounding headache, sore throat, abnormal discharge…." He deliberately coughed into his fist and cranked his voice up on the shrill scale to give it that raspy touch. It also brought water to his eyes and he blinked it away. It didn't usually hurt to talk that way after he had been doing it for the past three centuries. The shrillness made him cough for real and he nearly choked up a lung right then and there.

"Is there anything I can get you? A cup of tea might soothe your throat." He licked his lips hungrily, imagining the heavenly taste of Belle's tea. Never had he met anyone who made tea half as well as he did. On the other hand, was it worth opening the door for?

Well…..nah, not worth it.

"No, thank you," he answered firmly, fighting to keep his voice from rising in volume more than was necessary. "Why not spend the day in the library? Curl up with a good book?" One might think it was a generous offer on his part, but it was borne purely out of selfish means. This way, she would stay on the other side of the castle, the farthest from him she could ever be without terminating her contract.

He expected her to be thrilled with the idea of a day in the library instead of carrying out monotonous chores, but there was hardly a noise in the hall. No running toward the library, no cheerful cry, no quick acceptance. Panic seized him. Had she detected something off about his behavior? Were her blue eyes boring into the door in that inquisitive way of hers? He studied the shadow under the door, but it wasn't moving.

Had he shocked her to the point of muteness?

"Thank you," she exclaimed sincerely, breathily. You'd think he just promised her a trove of sapphires, emeralds, and rubies that spelled out her name in big shining letters. The shadow lingered for a second longer before fading. He listened intently as her feet traveled to the tower of the library and mounted the creaky stairs one at a time.

"Phew," he whistled, collapsing against the door. He wiped a hand across his brow in relief and found it damp with sweat, each bead rolling over his brow not going unnoticed. There were three beads on his ring finger; he counted.

That was one small problem dealt with. Now…how to calm his racing heart before it exploded straight through his best silk?

…..

He tried every spell and counter-spell he could think of. A transparent glass case had seemingly encircled his body, preventing all other magic from passing through. He searched through every tome in his room and tossed them aside furiously when they failed to provide an answer. He tested every silly superstition he overheard the children in the villages gabbling about on his outings for deals, including one where he pinched his tongue and said his own name three times.

Nothing worked.

He swore to stop eating vegetables in hopes of ruining his vision. It might not be so hard if he chose to never emerge from his room again. Starvation, like many other things in this world, wouldn't kill him. Only the stab of his mythical dagger had the power to do that. He'd be troubled by hunger pains, muscle weakness, dizzy spells, and his metabolism would be shot to hell, but it wouldn't mean death.

Sometimes, immortality wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

Rumpelstiltskin knew only one thing: he needed to get into his library. There were countless spellbooks of old wisdom stacked on the highest shelves, capped vials of various potions that might be his saving grace even if it meant a different catastrophe. Whatever it was couldn't possibly be as frustrating as oversensitivity. If the answers could be found in his castle, it would be in his library.

The only problem was that Belle was holed up in the library. There was no telling when she might leave its solace, especially if she had plunged headfirst into a book. His only hope without seeking her out himself was the point in time in which she took a break from reading to prepare dinner. Belle was not so careless as to lose track of the time when meals were supposed to be on the table.

All he had to do was wait.

And wait.

Perhaps when she was finished with the next page….or chapter…Was she going to make him rush down there and correct her? Belle, he learned, was a quick learner and never slacked after she got a handle on what was expected of her.

Usually, he would try a spell to lure her out, but his brain had short-circuited with the sensitivity and restless wracking to think of any appropriate ones. He could start a small fire in the kitchen…but he didn't want to be responsible for the damage of his castle if Belle's nose was too deep in her book. Throwing his voice to command her to get out of the library wasn't an option, either. Whenever he threw his voice, it came out of the oddest of places. Having his voice pop out of her book might frighten the girl or else she would think her books were finally feeding her a nugget of knowledge without the task of flipping pages.

Rumpelstiltskin paced as he waited. The muscles in his thighs quickly grew strained and burned from the effort of his quick stride, but he did not slow in pace. The clap of his boots was ominous to his ears, his nails clicking together as he tented his fingers.

At long last, he jumped a foot in the air when the foretelling creak of the library stairs joined the _clomp-clomp-clomp_ of his boots. She was descending the stairs one at a time, as painstakingly slow as a bride marching down the aisle. Part of him wanted to stick his head into the hall and yell _just be done with it already!_

She paused at the very top of the flight of stairs leading to the main hall. In a few steps, he had his ear cocked against the door, though not as terribly close as before in case Belle decided to come knocking again. Was she looking toward his bedroom? Was she compelled to check on him like a doting mother to a sickly child? Or was she merely fixing the lace of her bodice, smoothing down her skirts, trying to recall something she may have forgotten?

That must have been it since she carried on her way, albeit a little speedier than when she descended the library stairs. He listened without taking a breath as she crossed the foyer to the narrow hall branching off of it that opened up into the kitchen and pantry. She'd be almost directly below his feet by now, prepared to cook an evening meal with the assumption in mind that he was dining with her tonight.

Unfortunately, that was another tasty meal he would be skipping, at least while she set a place for herself at the dining room table. Ever since the night she arrived, he had requested her presence at the table during meals—to spare her a miserable meal in the lonely confines of her dungeon cell.

She shouldn't be too disappointed with his absence.

He patiently counted to ten in his head until he caught the crackling of flames in the kitchen followed by a bit of scratchy jostling as Belle stoked the fire. Trying to keep as quiet on his feet as possible, he cracked his door open and slinked into the hallway. He didn't know if he was doing a good job of stealth since every miniscule sound he made was magnified by tenfold in his head, but Belle didn't come rushing from the kitchens to confront him.

He made a rapid beeline for the library stairs. He had to clap a hand over his nose to block out the mouth-watering scents of food from the kitchens as he passed the foyer. His stomach betrayed him, unleashing an earthquake. He climbed the stairs two at a time, scowling at the shadowy corners on each step. Belle would have to clean these stairs tomorrow. There were dust motes, nearly invisible strings of spider-web hanging down over his head, and there was a funny smell he couldn't place but clogged his nostrils all the same.

It might have been Desperation of Regina—a horribly musky stench.

Truth be told, Rumpelstiltskin shared Belle's love of the library; not so much for the books, but the serenity it offered. It was one of his favorite places in the Dark Castle, apart from the dining hall where he did most of his spinning. He despised the emptiness of his chambers, where he did not often allow any sunshine to dwell. Nor was he granted the luxury of a woman's beauty in his bed. It was just…hollow.

But the library filled that void with its airy aura, golden streams of sunlight in the tower windows, and a breeze that was not formidable in the winter and was a blessing in the summer heat. It seemed to hold a magic all its own. It was the closest thing in which he attached the word _home_ since the night he...that Bae…

Really Bad Sensation, Really Bad Sensation. His vision blurred as though he were peering through a cloud of fog and he impatiently wiped the moisture away from his eyelids. The grief in his heart was sore to the point of moaning.

Rumpelstiltskin focused on the task at hand, gliding over to the first floor-to-wall bookcase that housed countless volumes and journals from years past. The bindings were coarse to the pads of his fingers, some of the pages brittle enough to crumble into ash. The ink was faded in spots, yet fresh as the day it was penned in other places.

He grabbed up book after book, sifting through them rapidly. The moment they proved useless, he blindly tossed it over it his shoulder, where it landed in a heap with a cringe-worthy _thump. _He didn't have time to casually set the volumes in an organized pile or linger over the pages a second more, even if it gave him a headache. The sooner he found his answer, the sooner this sensitivity would be a nightmare gone by.

The third or so bookcase Rumpelstiltskin perused, he opened a particularly ancient book and a flume of dust and stink of mold soared up into his nose. Immediately, his nose twitched as the pressure of an oncoming sneeze built inside it. The book trembled in his hands until he had no choice but to let it fall and crash on the floor.

"Ah…ah…."

It was coming, faster, faster, almost here now. The bridge of his nose felt like it was ready to burst. He thrust a finger under his nose to stall it. His body rose on his toes as the pressure made even his feet curl inside his boots. He was sure the sneeze would make good on its threat even with his finger pressed under his nose like a fake mustache…and then the pressure ceased. His feet landed back on the floor and his nose stopped twitching. He removed his finger and sniffed. Phew, that was a close one—

"_Ah-atchoo!"_

The sneeze rocketed through his nose with a vengeance before he could stop it. His brain rattled inside his head—he was almost sure it flipped upside down at one point. His eyes shed more tears than all of Regina's victims put together. His body swayed weakly against the bookshelf before collapsing to the floor.

Oh, gods, he couldn't see through the water and he couldn't hear through the popping of his ears. Was this his only solution for escaping the sensitivity temporarily? Develop allergies? Maybe he should sneak onto farms and sniff horses or sheep until his brain leaked from his ears from the sneezing.

His hearing gradually returned—not that he was happy about it—and his head stopped spinning. He gathered himself up from the floor, dusted his cloak off, and vowed never to sneeze again if he could help it. Bending over—ooh, the _leather!_—he collected the fallen tome.

Now, where was he before he was so rudely interrupted? Ah, yes—

"What have you done?" The outraged voice startled him into dropping the book a second time. Somehow, it sounded heavier than the first time it landed at his feet.

Every cell in his body froze up, his throat grew dry as sandpaper, and the hair on the back of his neck rose with static the way it often did when someone was burning holes into the back of his head. She must have been standing there for a full minute or so when his hearing had been dulled from the sneeze or else he would have heard her climb the stairs.

Slowly, he turned around to face a red-cheeked Belle. It was not the modest blush he sometimes found whenever she was caught studying him or whenever he said something unexpected to her ears. This was the color of raw anger. Her skin was red as a fresh tomato. In fact, it was getting redder the longer he looked. He could see the pink hues diffusing over her milky skin. Never had she ever truly questioned or defied anything he had chosen to do in his castle, which was why he was astonished to the point of immobility.

"The library," she cried, sweeping forward to examine it by spinning in circles. He wondered whether he should stay out of her way while she assessed the damage or ask her to dance. Her wide, soft blue eyes flew from the tented books and loose pages on the floor to the empty slots on the shelves. The only way this could possibly be worse for him was if he tore the bookshelves from the wall. "You've made a mess of it!"

"Lower your voice," he reprimanded, rubbing his earlobes. Belle revolved fully and gaped openly at him. It was oddly similar to that expression she wore when he claimed he wanted her to skin the children he collected for their pelts. Except this one was definitely not a quip.

"Lower my _voice?_" Was there an echo in here? If so, he needed to silence it pronto. It encouraged his headache, even if Belle's accented voice was more pleasant to listen to than most. Belle sunk to her knees and picked up an overturned blue book, its pages rustling as her fingers caressed them. "The books…they're…and the pages…" She was torn between the blue book and collecting the loose pages together.

Rumpel frowned. She seemed incapable of comprehending the new look of the library. He returned to searching the shelves for an answer to his problem—it was certainly more important than a couple of scattered books. Despite his direct attention on a black book that looked more like a diary, he still sensed her eyes boring into his back.

"You ruined them," she whispered throatily. He rolled his eyes and never realized how many muscles were used to do just that.

"Frigid fairies, they're just books! Silence!" He thumbed through another page, tossed it over his shoulder. It never hit the floor, but from the rough scuffle behind him Belle must have caught it. When he checked over his shoulder, she was cradling it to her chest like a child. Her lip trembled in her horror.

"Just…?" Without removing his eyes from her face, he lifted another book from the shelf. The crease in her brow smoothed out and her chin lowered. Her nails ground into the binding of the book. _Scratch-scratch-scratch…_"My mistake. It's your library. I suppose…you're entitled to ravage it." She choked out the word 'ravage,' as if it were bitter on her tongue.

"You're right—it is. Plus, I can always straighten it up with magic, dearie. It's not like my power is wasting away as we speak. You won't even notice a wear in the book bindings," he replied carelessly. She might not, but there was no question that these books were in worn shape to his eyes.

There was a soft _whoosh _of air as Belle huffed.

"Magic is your solution for everything," she retorted.

Was that meant to instill a change of heart in him? Magic may have a few blips here and there like turning his hair snow-white and making him suffer with sensitivity, but it made his life much easier for the most part. Or was this a trap to discover one of the monster's weaknesses? In that case, he had to deflect it.

"I'll have you know—"

Before he could utter another syllable, his finger curled around the next page with the intent of turning it over. Only, instead of turning, the page sliced the skin of his forefinger. He hissed and flung the book away. As he watched, his skin split apart with a bright glistening jewel of crimson, the dot blossoming to a teardrop that slid over his gold-grey digit. The metallic, rusty scent of blood irritated his nose until he gagged.

And then the real pain came. He thought he screamed.

"_Paper-cut! Paper-cut!" _

He waved his finger through the air, but that only made it sting more. His head was filled with cotton, heavy and cloudy, his thoughts drifting apart before he was able to pluck them to the surface. Belle stared at him, stunned, the books tumbling from her arms.

For hired help, _now_ would have been a good time to provide service.

"My dying day has come!"

Oh, it was the most brutal pain in all the realms. This was worse than his self-afflicted human injury of smashing a sledgehammer atop his leg. It was searing, scorching his entire finger down to the webbing without mercy. One thousand tiny steel swords stabbed into his skin. It felt like someone had savagely rubbed his skin raw with an iron brush and then dipped it into a vat of salt! He'd bet his agony trumped the kind Milah always crowed about once a month.

Sweat leaked down over his forehead. Tremors shuddered along his spine. He had no idea how his knees were able to support his weight. And he was still bleeding! His finger was practically gushing blood!

Something latched onto his wrist, the supreme tenderness rivaling the abrasion. Belle clucked her tongue. A few wisps of her hair tickled his hand as her head dipped to examine his wound. It distracted him for all of a second. It had been an incredibly long time since a woman willingly touched him. The hug she once gave him was just a notch above this.

"It's just a paper-cut," she told him, turning his finger this way and that. Her finger brushed it and he shivered. The pain had nothing to do with it. "I know how you feel. I don't like it when I get one, either."

He sought out the delicate pads of her fingers, unmarred by any such cuts. There were the beginnings of calluses on the knuckles from her hard work in the castle, but otherwise her fingers were exquisite.

"Just…just…?" The pain robbed his will to speak coherently. Had she gone mad? This was not just a paper-cut! This was a fatal wound, to say the least.

Belle guided him onto a stool and murmured something about returning in a moment. All he could do was glare at the sticky trail of blood curving over the top of his fingernail. The pain had lessened from _tearing-your-heart-out_ torturous to a more tolerable ache, but still he had to suck in a breath to ward off the fogginess in his head. He supposed he might have healed the cut, but the strength to call on his magic had left him.

If only this were his favorite chair and not a backless stool. The world was spinning wildly as it had when he sneezed, turning on its side…oh, he was tumbling over…the blood was all he could see…there was no way to stop it…

"I've got you," a breathy whisper warmed his ear as a flash of sky blue crossed his vision. He landed safely atop the softest support this world had to offer. Did Belle bring a pillow up to the library? It was so white…no, not just white. Ivory. It was Belle's skin.

Her skin was creamy to the touch. The creamiest of the cream. He nuzzled his cheek into the enticing velvet like a pleased kitten. In fact, a sensual purr might have escaped his throat. Belle gasped as he stroked her neck. That small intake of air sent a ripple through her body and that simple sound of her breath was so delicious that he longed to suck it back out from her lungs.

What kind of sorcery was this? Belle claimed not to know magic, but she had taken the form of an alluring enchantress. Ah, she felt so good…

The fragrance of roses and melted butter teased his nose until he buried it in the hollow of her throat. He inhaled deeply, drowning in the essence of Belle. _Oh, my!_ It came quietly at first, the faint flitter of butterfly's wings. Then it pulsed all around him in a rhythmic melody. He could hear Belle's heart! He closed his eyes peacefully and listened to its drumming while she took the liberty of settling him on his stool again. She laughed and he didn't know which sound was sweeter: the heartbeat or that silvery sound slipping between her lips.

This entire scenario reeked of magic. It was the magic of all women, the powerful seduction that was exploited by sirens on the seas.

"I wasn't aware the mighty Dark One grew queasy at the sight of blood," she teased.

Dark One? Queasy? That was a quip and a half, if only he had the mind to appreciate it. He wasn't bothered by the spilling of blood so long as it wasn't his own. Then again, there was a reason he didn't like visiting Frankenstein. The guy dug up bodies for a living and then decided to perform surgery to remove their organs and—

And his hand was in her lap. Oh, gods, she had taken hold of his hand and _it was in her lap_. It erased all other thoughts from his mind. _My hand is in her lap…my hand is in her lap…Soft skin and cool silk…_

The sound of raining water snagged his attention. Belle had brought back a bowl of fresh water, which she had set on his worktable. Her hands wrung out a soaking wet cloth, the stray drops falling with a steady _drip-drip-drip _into the bowl.

"This might sting a little," she warned, taking his hand into hers while the other armed itself with the damp cloth. His eyebrows shot the ceiling. Sting? A little? What exactly—

"I don't think that's necessary. If you let me wave my hand, I'll—_yeoww!"_

The cloth pressed over his cut and alarms sounded off in his head. Tendrils of pain spiked through his finger. He whipped his hand away and leaped to his feet, knocking over the stool in the process. He stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked on it, dabbing at the cut with his tongue. His tongue was a wriggling worm digging its way into his flesh, but he didn't care.

"Are you trying to kill me?"

It wouldn't be the first assassination attempt. He supposed he should applaud her, though. No one had ever done it with a bowl of water and a piece of cloth before. Now Belle rose to her feet, the cloth slapping down onto the worktable. Her face grew pink with annoyance.

"I'm only trying to help you," she insisted. She started to reach out for him, but he skittered away. Her nails hooked into her palm.

"Is that so? Well, let me be the first to inform you that you're doing a poor job of it so far!" Belle's arms thrust down to her sides. Her hands balled into fists.

"If you didn't pull away, it might not hurt so much," she boldly fired back. A storm brewed inside his chest, the matter of his sore finger suddenly forgotten. The insolence of her! He stomped his foot on the floorboards.

"Oh, really? Consider this: I might not pull away if you didn't insist in dousing my finger in that venom! Leave me to my own devices," he growled. Childishly, he stuck his finger back into his mouth and sucked feverishly at it. He spat it out a few times. Bleh! That rose oil did not taste well. But it was unnerving Belle, so he kept at it. Until she strode forward and wrenched his finger from his mouth, anyway.

"Stop doing that! It's not healthy," she scolded. For some reason, her coddling ticked him off even more.

"It's my finger—I'll do whatever I please with it," he roared. Just to prove it, he stuck it back in again. Belle tried pulling it out again, but he easily dodged her attack. She planted her hands on her supple hips. He turned his back so as not to fall victim to her charm.

"If you actually trusted someone for once—" Oh, she was going for the tactic of playing to his insecurities, was she? Rumpel feigned calm, though her words bit worse than she knew.

"Hah! I don't even trust my reflection. Why ever would I trust _you?"_ After all, Belle was the one waving the cloth around that may or may not be poisonous. He'd lived alone for so long, forced to accept his role as the beast to the point that allowing his walls to come down was as simple as making the sun rise in the west. Belle drew back a step, her face pinched with pity.

"Maybe you should consider the fact that not everyone wants to kill you," she said. With a ragged sigh, she sunk back into her chair and the cloth sloshed through the water in the bowl. He'd never seen her so dejected before.

To this day, he didn't know why he did it, but the next thing he knew he was on the stool and holding his finger out to her. Belle peered at it from the corner of her eye. A silent moment went by and he thought she would blatantly refuse to help. Instead, the corners of her lips lifted and she gently accepted his hand.

He turned his head away so that he did not have to see the cloth rise from the bowl. There was the sound of trickling water and then the cold wetness of the cloth pressing to his finger. He hissed same as before, but fought against the urge to pull away. Belle began to dab at his paper-cut, squeezing a few drops of water onto it. The initial pain of it eased into something pleasant while she cared for his cut. A slight brush of the fingertip here, the refreshing drips of water there.

That…felt….good.

A tearing sound made his head spin around. It was only Belle stripping a piece of the cloth, so as to tie it snugly over his finger and prevent the cut from being exposed to the outside world. He wiggled his finger experimentally after she finished securing the bandage. It was like sticking a thimble on the end of his finger—it would take a bit of time to forget it was there at all.

"Thank you," he reluctantly yielded. Belle dried her hands on her skirts.

"Now, was that so bad?" She studied him from under her long eyelashes.

He admired the way the sun brought out the red highlights in her chestnut hair and made her eyes glow with the mesmerizing sparkle of diamonds. He shook his head rapidly, pushing away that train of thought. Belle must have a siren lineage in her family.

"…Yes," he maintained his stubbornness.

Belle gave him a knowing smile. If they had thought to make a deal, it would mean he had to do something for her in return. It had become his nature. So, with a flourish of his hand, the misplaced books lifted from the floor and flew back onto the shelves. There was barely a wrinkle left in the pages apart from the ones Belle marked in her reading.

"Thank _you_," she said, patting his hand. He didn't know how to deal with the sudden rush of warmth in his chest. He tugged the collar of his silk shirt as beads of sweat began to roll over his brow. Was he experiencing some odd kind of heart combustion along with a headache? This sensitivity was becoming nothing but a thorn in his side.

Her hand was so warm and small…

"How do you feel?"

Rumpel was lost in his own euphoria with the way Belle's hand would not leave his own. Part of him didn't want it to move at all. His nerves tingled with something like excitement. His eyelids fluttered closed, his mind swirling in a caramel vortex of pleasure.

"So good," he murmured.

Belle's hand slid across his palm. In the next second, there was nothing there except the cool air filling the empty space where her hand had been. Had he somehow said the wrong thing? Damn these Really Good Sensations. He cleared his throat and struggled for something appropriate to say.

"Hem-hem…uh…I'm still feeling a little under the weather. I think…it'll be best if I return to my bedchambers."

He stood to do just that, but Belle mirrored his movements. She wrung her fingers together like a ladder, the crack of a knuckle making him wince.

"You're going without supper?" For a moment, he was convinced she was concerned. That was ridiculous. Maybe what she was really asking was if it would be okay for her to eat her supper _without him. _She could pig out on the entire contents of the kitchen for all he cared; most of the shelves magically restocked during the night, anyway.

"I'm not very hungry," he replied. "But feel free to enjoy your own meal."

Belle inclined her head gratefully, though something about her still seemed solemn. It must be a trick of the light. He suddenly longed for the quiet and dimness of his bedroom. Spinning on his heel, Rumpelstiltskin could not escape the library fast enough.

….

_Pound-pound-pound. _

Not half an hour after he fled the library, there came an intense—or in reality, light—knocking at his door. It was probably no louder than the grace of her footsteps, but she might as well have been toppling a tree into it. A growl of frustration climbed in his throat. It was short-lived, since it resembled a ballad of angry bees mixed with the grittiness of saws chewing through wood.

Couldn't she take a hint? Didn't she have a book to dig her nose into right about now? Or several? Didn't she realize he wanted to be left alone, as in no one here but him and his shadow? Besides, every time he even looked her way he nearly collapsed of heart palpitations. That entire scene in the library hadn't left his mind for a split second. Why, his heart was rocking against his ribs as he even reminisced about any close proximity to Belle.

Ow, ow, ow.

It was too quiet on the other side of that door. There was a distinct _pitter-patter_ as her feet glided back down the hallway. By the sounds of it, she wasn't coming back, either. Had she given up already? That was very unlike her. Maybe she was the one coming down with the cold. If that were the case, she had better stay far away from him. The last thing he needed was a drawn-out battle against a cold that wouldn't break.

Much like poor Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole, his curiosity got the better of him. He shimmied over to the door and held his breath as he listened to the sounds of the hallway. Not even a whisper of wind.

Inch by inch, the door creaked open. There was not a speck of sky blue fabric to be found. He thrust the door wide open and poked his head into the hallway. Left, right, left…nothing. Well, whatever had been on Belle's mind mustn't have been very important.

He was about to close the door again when something on the ground caught his eye.

It was a silver tray, the handles gleaming in the sinking sunlight. There was a deep bowl filled to the brim with stew, the steam still curling. Oh, he could smell it from here. His nose twitched like a rabbit's. It…smelled…wonderful. The rich aroma of melted butter blended with it and he spied a basket of fresh croissants still slick with the stuff. A teacup waited in one corner of the tray, the herbal tea inside begging to be gulped immediately.

It was hard to ignore the cacophony of his grumbling stomach as he processed the sudden offer of this tray of food, but somehow he managed it while rubbing a hand flat over his belly. Gods, he was practically on all fours like a dog, salivating at the mouth.

He had to stop and think about this. Belle left a tray of food at his door. First the paper-cut, now this. No one had ever gone out of their way for him. Was she afraid of compromising her deal with him if she neglected to offer him the tray of food? Or was she sincerely concerned for his well-being?

Her reaction to him—or lack, thereof—troubled him far worse than the sensitivity ever could. The last time someone had been selfless and kind in his presence was…let's see…carry the one…why, centuries ago!

The demand for food consumption overpowered his logical thinking and he would have gladly stuffed his face full of buttered bread and rich stew right there on the threshold of his bedroom if he hadn't noticed the slip of parchment tucked under the basket of croissants. Bending on one knee—_tight leather pants, tight leather pants_—he carefully retrieved the note, deftly pinching it between his fingers so as not to repeat the dreaded paper-cut incident.

He quickly unfolded it, read it, and read it again. All the while, he admired the inky elegant loops and curves of Belle's handwriting. He wondered what his name would look like in her penmanship.

_I didn't think it would be wise to leave the master of the castle wanting. I hope you feel better soon. _–_Belle. _

His thumb traced over her written name the same instant it fell from his lips in one harmonious note. Gratefully, he carried the tray of food inside and kicked the door closed.

_Bang! _Ow.

…

_**Shout-outs (for such amazing reviews) go to: Huntress4455, Revenessa, SweetCinnamon, Guest, SwanQueen4055, Claire, Newland Archer, Leona, Grace5231973, and SakuraBlossom58. I appreciated all the wonderful comments in my inbox and I hope everyone enjoyed reading this chapter as well. **_


	3. Not Your Average Prince Charming

By the time the sun rose the next morning, Rumpelstiltskin decided that it was futile to stay locked up in his bedroom forever while waiting for this sensitivity issue to take its toll.

For one thing, it was _boring_ in there! All he did to pass the time was pace, stare blankly out the window, and bounce his pillows into the air like Bae used to do whenever he was deeply upset. Rumpelstiltskin was a creature of entertainment. He thrived on it like ordinary people required water and bread to live. It came with the immortality and living alone in a castle for centuries.

Furthermore, he barely got any sleep. What was the point in wasting the day away if he could use that time to work on the curse that would take him to Bae? It was bad enough that he had to divide his time between creating the Dark Curse and making deals.

The deals were the reason he was staying awake at night, not the heightened sensitivity.

One thing he learned about human nature over the centuries was that people never stopped _wanting_. Even more baffling was the realization that those same people often confused _want _with _need. _It was never '_I want you to take my brother away because he pulled my pigtails'_ or _'I want a dress that will make my archenemy jealous at the next royal ball.' _It was always _I need you to take my brother away_ and _I need that dress. _

It was downright irritating! Their moans and groans and cries were worse than the grind of steel on stone.

The moment that Rumpel flopped into bed last night, he was summoned by a new mother who had just given birth to a stillborn son. For ten whole minutes, he heard nothing but _wah-wah-wah _and _but-but-but_ as she wailed in her birthing bed. The piercing screams drove nails into his brain, bringing him to his knees. In the end, he was forced to suck out her voice and trap it in a pickle jar long enough to explain to the sobbing woman that magic could do much, but it was not powerful enough to bring back the dead. It only made her scream silently, her mouth working like an oversized fish.

Rumpel had handed her wire-thin farmer husband the jar and told him to smash it once he left. Even so, he thought he heard the painful shattering of glass before he made it back to his own bed.

At midnight, an old maid called on him to demand that he shower beauty on her so that she may win the heart of her archenemy's lover to smite her. In exchange, he made her blind and warned her that her beauty would only last several days. It was amusing to park himself on the sidelines and watch her stumble into a ditch. At least he managed to get rid of that gruesome wart on her nose….until he realized it was actually her nose.

The next hour, it was a peasant who wanted money, money, money. After that, it was King Midas who wished to marry his daughter off to Rumpelstiltskin. Obviously the poor fellow had one too many drinks before bed. He almost succeeded in turning Rumpel into a gold water-squirting fountain since the king forgot to wear the glove that always covered his golden hand.

Who knew that man was such a _hugger? _

The deals never stopped. It made Rumpel sigh with relief as the sunlight broke out across the windowsill and the appetizing smell of breakfast teased his nose from the kitchen. He rubbed his empty belly, which growled until every limb on his body quaked. _Perhaps I'll join Belle for breakfast this morning, _he thought as he strived to dress for the day. He chose his loosest silk shirt so it wouldn't cling to his skin. _Surely I'll get used to the stimuli of her company soon. It's not like I haven't seen an attractive woman before. _

Rumpel slipped out into the hallway, blinking a few times to adjust to the brightness of the hall. It was such a stark contrast to the dim shadows of his bedchamber. Was that stone actually _white? _He always assumed it was a displeasing shade of gray. A yawn overwhelmed him as he reached the stairs, his jaw aching from the way it stretched wide. He began to descend the stairs, his boots slapping the cold steps.

Halfway down, he heard something odd. It was barely a whisper, brushing over his mind with the delicacy of leaves swirling in a spring breeze. _Rumpelstiltskin…_

At first, he thought the cry might have belonged to Belle, but he cocked his head to the side to listen to the sound of her cooking in the kitchen. Her steps were unhurried, her breathing regular, the scrape of utensils on plates the only sound to make him cringe. There was a sloshing of water, a roar of fire…Nothing to suggest panic.

Besides, the calling of his name wasn't spoken out of fear or panic. It wasn't uttered in the throes of passion, either, as sometimes happened during a maiden's lusty daydream. Some women in this realm had strange taste in men. The calling had been gentle, almost sweet, and…experimental. Like someone waiting to see if it would bring about the desired effect.

Was it one of the children in the villages sprinkled about the Enchanted Forest performing a dare to see if the malevolent Dark One would come sweeping down on them like a banshee? Foolish children. He'd given a handful of them nightmares before, rendering them mute for months at a time. Not intentionally, of course. Even when he tried to be nice and offer sweets, they screamed for help.

_Rumpelstiltskin…_

This time, the voice was stronger, louder in volume. It was most certainly not Belle's voice. It held the same innocent sweetness of Belle, but it wasn't her. That meant it was someone summoning him for a deal.

Oh, no. He wasn't zipping off to listen to someone else's problems. Not again.

He stood still as a statue on the stairs, arms crossed and pouting. This morning, he was going to enjoy a delicious meal with Belle. Anyone who didn't like it could leave a written complaint as his door, anonymously if they didn't want him running their carriage off the road. He used every ounce of his energy to keep his feet planted firmly in his castle.

He smirked as the voice began to fade into the corners of his mind.

_Hah! See that? You lose, I win. I refuse to be disturbed by some whiny ne'er do well or a pompous royal whose only interest is money and marriage. I am going to sit in my chair, I am going to eat Belle's breakfast, and there is nothing you can do to change my mind. I don't care if you scream. _

He descended another step.

_Rumpelstiltskin! _

The impact of the scream inside his head startled him to the point of swaying like a drunken fool. His foot came crashing down on the step, only it wasn't a step anymore. It was a patch of brown grass. The sun beat down harshly over his head, blinding him momentarily. When his vision returned, he saw that he was standing in a small field with an old cottage not too far off.

He felt a presence standing close behind him, probably the old sap who voiced his name. He took three guesses as to what this was about. Revenge, wealth, or children. It was usually one of the three. Occasionally it was a maiden who hadn't known when to stop drinking at the tavern and suffocated him with her lips and sloppy promises of a good time, often taking a stick to pry her off.

"What do you want? You want money? You want your pitiful farm to last through another winter? You want to marry your child off to me in hopes you'll gain a portion of my wealth? Midas already tried that one last night. Take your pick, dearie," he snapped, spinning around to face the man—

Only it wasn't a man. It was a little girl.

He blinked. Was this a trick? An illusion? One of Regina's clever disguises in order to make a fool of him? Only she didn't look a thing like Regina. Whenever Regina practiced disguising herself in front of him, she always left something out to give her away. This girl showed no sign of Regina's raven black hair or her tart attitude or even a drop of her cleavage.

The girl tilted her head at him expectantly. She was younger than Bae had been the last time he saw his boy. Ten, he guessed. Plain, dry strands of sandy hair framed her heart-shaped face, which was mostly shielded by the hood of the tattered cloak on her shoulders. She was standing under one of the trees of the forest surrounding her home. She kept her chin raised and her eyes never wavered from his snakelike ones, but he could smell the fear rising off her in waves.

This must be one of those dares. He looked around for signs of other pesky children, but saw no one else. It was very quiet in this part of the forest. Was this girl really alone or were her little friends waiting to jump out and attack him with wooden swords in a childishly heroic attempt to slay the beast?

Whatever happened to the classic dares of shopping in the market naked or dropping a rat in the hair of the girl you fancied?

"If you called to inquire about my taste in fashion before you sneak off with the boy of your dreams, let me be the first to warn you…that cloak does not work well with your dress," he mocked, waving his hand toward her terribly thin frame. The girl buttoned up her cloak to hide her dress underneath.

"I'm sorry…sir," she whispered softly, adding a little curtsy. He recognized the voice immediately as the one that shrieked inside his head. How did this little girl have so much lung capacity to shout the way she did? It puzzled him to watch her politeness and anxiousness unfold. "I didn't know who else to call for help. If I told my papa, he wouldn't be happy with me. He's trying to make shoes so that we'll have enough to eat this week."

A sob story. How delightful. He should have brought his tissues. The girl began to pick at her nails under his impatient leer. _Click-click-click-click…_

"Let me guess: you wish to make a deal with me so that I'll sneak into your house in the middle of the night and fix your dear old papa a glorious mountain of shoes to fill your belly with corn and bread? Do I look like an elf, by any chance?"

He cupped his chin, rotating his head this way and that for her examination. The girl took the question seriously and shook her head. Apparently, her sarcasm detector was broken. _Click-click-click-click—_

"Stop doing that! It's driving me mad!" The girl jumped a mile in the air. Now she was shaking visibly. He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to compose his stormy thoughts.

"I-I didn't call you so that you'll h-help my papa, though I wouldn't mind if you did," she stuttered. She blinked innocently from underneath her eyelashes. _Of course you wouldn't mind, _he thought bitterly and flexed his fingers in front of his face with the cottage a blur in the distance. _You owe me, little one. I needed a new pair of boots, anyway. _

"Then what happens to be the problem? Did some boy in your town tug your pigtails? It happens. It's our manly way of saying _I like you _at that age," he said.

Truth be told, he tugged only one pair of pigtails as a lad and got slapped silly for it. He never tried it again and if he did it today, the maiden of his choice would probably run screaming for the hills. The girl chewed nervously on her lip. Did he break her or something?

"Speak! What is it you want? Do you fancy an afternoon tea party with the Dark One? Sorry, sweetie, I'm booked."

He didn't have time to play guessing games with little Mary-Ann. He didn't know her name, but she kind of looked like a Mary-Ann. In any case, it was sweltering out here. He was already sweating in places he didn't need to sweat. He turned with the intention of leaving, only to feel something warm slip into his hand. He looked down to find Mary-Ann latched onto his hand. She was tugging it insistently. It shocked him into silence. No child had ever willingly spoke to him, let alone held his hand. Was she blind?

"I need to get my cat out of the tree," she said. There was that _need _again.

She pointed to the tree she'd been standing under, where a cat rested on one of the higher branches, its black tail flipping back and forth lazily. He glanced at it with its narrowed, luminescent eyes and then stared at Mary-Ann in bewilderment.

Cat? Tree? Was this what his reputation as the Dark One amounted to now? A rescuer for animals in jeopardy? He would've favored the wooden swords.

"I was just sitting here under the tree, reading a book. I do that sometimes when my papa's busy working on shoes. Mittens leaped off my lap and jumped into the tree. My papa told me I could keep him as long as I care for him, but he won't come down! Please?"

He opened his mouth to refuse, but her eyes grew impossibly wide, pleading with her entire heart and soul. He tried to avoid looking at that doll face of hers, but it was like trying to lick your elbow. It couldn't be done. Rumpelstiltskin tried that one as a child, too.

"If he won't come down for you, what makes you think he'd come down for _me_? Do I smell like milk and roses?" He took a step away from the girl before she got it in her head to sniff him. Her eyes welled up with water and the fear of what she would say to her father. A stubborn thing, she began a chant of pleases to goad him.

"Please, please, please, please, please, please, please…?" What did parents teach their children these days? He never remembered the children in his village being this annoying before he became the Dark One. Did Mary-Ann ever run out of air?

Finally, his patience ran out.

"Fine! If I say yes, will you promise to stop your caterwauling?" For a minute, he thought he might have to explain what the word caterwauling meant. But Mary-Ann nodded agreeably. With a snap of his fingers, the cat was lifted into the air and plopped down on the ground at Mary-Ann's feet.

"Thank you—"

She went to scoop up the cat, but it took off faster than a jackrabbit. It swerved around her legs, pounced onto the tree, and scrambled back up the branch that it was forced to vacate only a moment ago. This time, it turned its back to Mary-Ann and Rumpel.

Rumpel scowled at the mangy feline. That was a bit aggravating. Mary-Ann sniffled. She had better not be ready to unleash the waterworks on him. Rumpel was having none of that while he was in earshot. He was still convinced that his hearing in one ear was off after dealing with that grieving mother.

_Don't tell me I have to do this the old-fashioned way, _he grumbled in his head, eyeing the branches of the tree. He was never much of a tree-climber even before the incident with his lame leg. But Mary-Ann was sniffling and he could almost hear the sob crawling in her throat. _I'm going, I'm going, I'm going. _

Rumpelstiltskin placed his hands around the trunk of the tree as if he were embracing it. Really, he was fumbling around for any groove or spot that would allow him support to climb. Mary-Ann giggled behind him, but he silenced her with a condescending look over his shoulder. He spotted a branch above his head and reached for it, only to realize he was too short. Curse his small stature! It had always been his Achilles' heel. He jumped, but his fingers just barely brushed the bottom of the branch.

Was that another giggle behind him? He peered over his shoulder, but little Mary-Ann was twiddling her thumbs.

Planting one foot flat on the trunk of the tree, Rumpel made an earnest effort to scale the tree. He leaped into the air, scrambling far enough to grasp the branch. His feet dangled precariously in the air, pumping and whooshing as though treading through water. The muscles in his arms screamed from struggling to hold onto the branch. His chin dragged over the rough bark, scraping the skin. Just when he thought he would plunge into open air, he hoisted himself onto the branch.

His ribs hurt, his chin hurt, and he thought he might have pulled a muscle somewhere. He spit out a leaf that had fallen in his mouth.

The miserable cat sprawled over the length of the branch. One white paw hung limply while his tail flicked back and forth almost playfully. Two yellow eyes turned to slits as Rumpel slid closer. The bark under his legs did not mix with tight leather pants. _If anyone witnessed the Dark One rescuing a cat from a tree, I'd never live it down. _

He wiped his brow with the sleeve of his dragon-hide cloak—not only from anxiousness, but because the sun happened to shine its rays directly on this branch. It made the cat's black fur seem shiny and sleek. Just a couple inches closer…slide…_ow_…slide…_ow_…

How was he supposed to get the cat down from the tree without tumbling out himself? Cats were such arrogant, independent animals that would sooner bite you than bend to your will. He felt foolish calling it, but there was no safer option.

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty," he cooed, loathing every syllable that escaped from between his dark lips. If only Belle could see him now. He steadied himself on the branch, his thighs squeezing it, and he stretched out a hand to the furry feline. What did Mary-Ann say his name was? Oh, right. Mittens. How clever. "Hello there, Mittens. Come to Papa Rumpel—"

The minute his golden-grey fingers dared to touch the silky black cat's spine, a deadly transformation overtook the animal. A fearsome hiss, similar to steam after water has been poured on a raging fire, exploded from the cat's pink mouth. Those black ears flattened against its head, the fangs were bared, the white paws flashed miniature daggers, and every ounce of fur stood on end. Before Rumpel could retreat, the cat lashed out at his extended arm, latching onto it with a deathly grip. Those nails mercilessly dug into his skin, drawing blood instantly.

"Get off, get off, get off!" Rumpel howled, waving his arm madly in the air in hopes of flinging the cat away. It only made Mittens hold on tighter. Then he made the mistake of raising his arm above his head. The cat released his arm, dropping down onto Rumpel's face.

It was dark! There was nothing but warm black fur in front of his eyes! The smell of pine and sap invaded his nose, choking him with its sickly sweetness. And those claws! If the Ogre Wars had angry kittens on their side, the Ogres wouldn't know what hit them.

Rumpel temporarily forgot all about the fact that he was perched on a branch in a tree. Both of his arms flailed and flew to his face to pry the cat off. Its heart was beating against his cheek, racing faster than horse's hooves. His balance suddenly left him and his body swung sharply to the left, flying into open air.

The air drove out of his lungs as his back collided with the hard earth. For several seconds, all he could do was stare mindlessly up at the sky as the cat trotted over his chest. Here he thought stars only came out at night. There was a red one…and a yellow one…and a blue one…He whipped his arm to bat that one away.

The cat darted for the tree, but this time Mary-Ann snatched him up into her arms. Mittens growled disappointingly, but put up less of a fight than he did with Rumpel. Mary-Ann loomed over the fallen dealmaker with eyes full of sympathy. Rumpel's face burned as if someone took a torch to it. He didn't even want to think about checking out his reflection in a mirror.

"Sorry," the girl apologized quietly. She stroked Mittens' fur, who seemed to be torn between growling and purring. "He doesn't like strangers." Oh, really? Rumpel never would have guessed. She didn't think to mention it before? His lip felt swollen. He touched a finger to it and it came away bloody.

Rumpel rolled onto his side to get up. His throat convulsed and he hacked and heaved over the dry ground. Fur-ball. He gradually rose to his feet and dusted his clothes off. _That is the last time I ever save a cat from a tree, _he vowed. _I don't care how many pleases there are! _

"Sun," he sighed irritably. The girl's expression was perplexed. He pointed to the branch. "Your demon cat enjoys the sunlight. There's nothing but shade underneath this tree, warm as it may be. The sun was shining on that branch, so your kitten climbed up there to reach it." He shielded his eyes from the sun and studied Mary-Ann's cottage in the distance. Just as he suspected, there were no windows open. Did her father believe looters would steal all his fantastic shoes? "A tiny suggestion, if I may: try opening up the windows once in a while. Let Mittens lay on the sill. The sun might adjust his attitude as well."

The girl nodded fervently.

"Can I ask you a question?" He inclined his head skeptically, wondering what it was she wanted to inquire about. He wasn't exactly the symbol of honesty and camaraderie in this realm.

"Well, you can ask all you want, but I can't promise I'll answer," he replied swiftly. _Not truthfully, anyway, _he added in his head, where little Mary-Ann would never intrude. She bit the inside of her cheek and seemed to pay close attention to his hands and neck. What, she'd never seen a short green-gray-gold skinned man before?

"You should try putting rose petals in your bath," she suggested. "My mama used to do that with me when I was a baby. Maybe it'll help with your skin. Or you could always try flour." Rose petals? Flour?

His mouth fell open and he gawked at her as though she spawned three extra heads. Did this child just advise him about how to treat his skin? She thought….it was a disease? The sad part was, Mary-Ann had no clue how unsettled he was by her suggestion. The way she blinked and smiled cheerily told him she was convinced she was being helpful to him in her innocent way.

"I'll take your word for it," he muttered. There was no way he was going to stop on the side of the road and pick rose petals to put in his bath, nor was he going to pat flour over his body. What would Belle say if she caught him sprinkling petals into the tub? Was she even the type of woman who liked that sort of thing?

"Oh…okay. I was only trying to help." She lowered her head in shame. "Thank you, sir. Now, what do I need to do?" He tilted his head at her, blinking uncomprehendingly.

"Do?" He pronounced the word as if it belonged to an unfamiliar language. The girl shifted the cat in her arms. Mittens glared spitefully at Rumpel and he flitted back a step in case it had any ideas about lunging again. He was fairly certain half his nose was missing already from those claws.

"To pay you," she clarified. "Papa says you're dangerous because you never do anything for free."

That wasn't true! H just didn't anything _for anyone else_ for free. Why, he breathed for free, didn't he? Granted, the only reason he was still breathing was because of the Dark One curse…Otherwise, his miserable bones would have been ground to dust by now with little green worms vacationing in his coffin.

Magic certainly wasn't free; a rule that nobody knew better than him. Just look at him now. Who would have ever believed that the Dark One turned out to be the most sensitive person in the Enchanted Forest? Literally?

Rumpel scrutinized Mary-Ann up and down. Her eyes turned down to the ground under his sharp gaze.

"You've managed to stop screeching," he remarked, waving his hands in her direction. This didn't seem to satisfy the girl. Good grief, he was dealing with a Good Samaritan. He prayed Regina never crossed paths with her. He rapped his knuckles on his forehead, contemplating. "Alright, alright. You mentioned you were reading a book, yes? Good. Hand it over."

He held out his hands for it, but the silly girl made no move to retrieve it. She stared at him as if he just broke out into song and dance. Obviously, she thought the petty price for rescuing her cat must be a trick.

"You want…my book?" Her voice shot up several notches in her confusion. Was there an echo out here? Rumpel rolled his eyes to the milky sky.

"Yes, yes, yes, your _book_," he snapped. He made a gesture of flipping through pages. "Just give me your book and we'll call it a deal. I have a…girl…uh, friend…who enjoys reading as well."

He mentally berated himself for that spill of information. Why was it any of Mary-Ann's business why he wanted the book? What was it about children that established a soft spot in his armor? It always came down to the memory of Bae.

Mary-Ann's lips stretched upwards at the mention of his girl…uh, friend…No, this wasn't right at all! Belle was only his caretaker, nothing more. _Then, why didn't I say that in the first place? She's my _maid. _Maid, maid, maid. Get it together, you old imp. _This was what happened when he didn't have his morning tea; his head grew fuzzy.

Mary-Ann tucked Mittens under one arm and removed a thin book from inside her cloak with the other. She offered it to him and his eyebrows rose at the gold-scripted title on the cover.

"_The Odyssey?" _This was a ten or so year old's choice of reading material? He gave Mary-Ann a suspicious once-over. There weren't even any pictures in this book! She shrugged and cradled a grumpy Mittens like an infant, rocking the black cat back and forth.

"I like stories about adventure. Plus, it belonged to my mama before she…" It was all Mary-Ann said before the words trailed off into the wind, her lip trembling. Rumpel threw his fists in the air.

"Not the tears! What do I have to do, sing you a lullaby? Don't answer that; it was sarcasm." The girl wiped her nose with her sleeve. For the first time, he got a good look at how vulnerable she was, standing before the Dark One. The trick to the heightened eyesight was the difference between seeing and truly _seeing. _

As for Mary-Ann, she was probably the bravest child he'd met since Morraine, Bae's little childhood sweetheart. Come to think of it, she sort of reminded him a little of Morraine. He knew Morraine had grown up after Bae's disappearance, been betrothed to one of the village boys, and popped out a handful of children before succumbing to a fatal disease. He would have gladly cured it, but her husband had been too thick-headed and stubborn to beg the Dark One when their family could barely make it through their last winter.

Rumpel wondered if Mary-Ann was one of Morraine's descendants.

A strange ache started in his chest. Sympathy? Pity? No, that was ridiculous. But…he wished he could tell little Mary-Ann to be brave like Belle and Morraine. He wished he could encourage her to venture off on her adventures or share a nugget of wisdom to brace her for the harsh world out there.

He might have…but Rumpelstiltskin was no longer a soft-spoken man of comfort, if he had ever truly been at all. He was not that type of man, so all he did was slip the book inside his vest where its flat weight rested over his heart and shooed Mary-Ann off.

"Run off, now. Skedaddle," he urged her onward, though he refused to physically touch her. He wasn't sure he could handle that kind of human contact twice in one morning. Mary-Ann bowed once more, thanked him politely for the umpteenth time, and made for her cottage with Mittens' plump rump showing from under her arm. "And don't even think of calling my name again! The last thing I need is your bragging rights in front of your little friends about how I saved your kitty! I have a reputation to uphold!"

He didn't know if she heard him or would ever heed his words. He watched her race off to her tiny cottage where her papa was most likely kissing the floor in respect of whichever gods bestowed him with a pile of well-crafted shoes. Rumpel probably put some elves out of a job.

Part of him craved to stick around to observe her papa's reaction to her tall tale. Most people would not be pleased if their child came home announcing '_Rumpelstiltskin saved my kitty.'_ No doubt her father would have a panic attack thinking the cruel, loathsome Dark One tricked his sweet daughter into becoming his bride when she flowered into womanhood. But, alas, it was not meant to be. There was a cup of Belle's special tea calling his name.

With a jarring snap of his fingers, he disappeared with a puff of purple smoke. He wondered if anyone else lapsed into a coughing fit whenever he popped in and out magically.

….

The table in the dining hall was set for breakfast when Rumpel popped into his castle.

As he emerged from the violet flume of fog, he stumbled into the table, nearly knocking the bowls and goblets over and sending an intense pain shooting up what used to be his bad leg. He was greeted with an army of scents: butter, bacon, eggs, tarts, the lavender of Belle's skirts, the sweet aroma of the roses on the table, the muskiness of the castle's interior. He smelled _home_.

It was short-lived when he started coughing and wheezing from the smoke. It seeped into his lungs and pricked his eyelids with water. Next time, he would resort to flying over the Enchanted Forest with an umbrella. Maybe he would borrow the one the talking cricket always carried around.

"Are you alright?"

Someone—Belle, for who else would it be?—rubbed his back to soothe away the spasms of his coughing. The movement of her fingers on his spine felt nothing short of blissful. He turned his head and his lips very nearly brushed hers, she was so close. He sputtered once more, this time out of nervousness and wriggled away from her sensual touch.

"Never been better. It's not like I haven't transported magically before. Perhaps this place is getting a bit too dusty," he retorted, harsher than he meant.

Belle slowly pulled back, stunned as she was by the barb. Even he realized it had been a bit unfair given the way she strived to please him with hard work day in and out, but his conflicting desires stopped him from crossing the distance between their bodies.

Of course, there was one thing he was sure would bring a smile to her face. Part of him longed to witness her joy. Dipping his hand into his vest, he revealed the book. He wouldn't be surprised if he had a square outline fused on his skin from the way it pressed into his chest.

"Uh…I…This should preoccupy you for the afternoon," he said, holding out the book. Belle's cornflower blue eyes glimmered at the sight of the book and she reached out to accept it. It was a treasure more valuable than gold in her world.

For a brief instant, as her hands slipped under the book to lift it up, her fingers lightly caressed his, making his nerves tingle. Even more startling, she didn't recoil from him, but kept her hands there a moment longer than any rightful-minded person would. In fact, he thought he felt one of her nails trace his finger teasingly.

The book bumped his chest. Was she…getting closer? Not moving away? It frightened him to hear his heart pounding in his ears and to have to fight the urge to drift closer to Belle. Fear was also what stopped him from doing that, the fear that he would make a move toward her and logic would return to her, forcing her to recoil.

So, he recoiled enough for both of them before she could. He whipped his hands away so fast that the book tumbled out of Belle's hands and smacked on the ground.

"I'll get it," she reassured him a split second before she knelt to pick up the book. _Oh, my._

It was the longest second of Rumpelstiltskin's life. As Belle bent at his feet, the soft flesh of her breasts spilled over the top of her bodice. Those milky mounds rose and fell with each breath in his ear. He leaned on the table before he grew weak at the knees, his black nails grinding into the wood until there were deep scratches in the surface and flecks of it under his nails. The sting of slivers held no contest against the heat pooling between his legs. His most precious organ throbbed against the tight leather restriction of his pants, demanding release.

_Oh…my…gods…_

Time returned to normal as Belle straightened with the book tucked to her chest. He envied that book, instead imagining a darkened room and a massive bed dressed with silk, and Belle's delicate arms squeezing his torso…

What was wrong with him? Maybe the potion affected more than his five basic senses. Maybe it had a hold on his sanity, his lust, his weakness to womanly wiles.

"Let me guess: you fought tooth and nail for the last book in the market?" What was she going on about? She was scrutinizing his face, her eyes scrolling from his forehead to his nose to his chin and back up again. It was a moment later that he realized she wasn't searching for a particular reaction, but inquiring with subtlety about the scratches on his face.

"You're admiring my complexion?" With a flick of his wrist, a wave of relief washed over his face like the splash of cool water as the lacerations healed. Curse Mittens, the arrogant cat with the attitude problem. Should he tell Belle the truth about the origin of the scratches? He debated telling her he fell face-first in a rosebush, but his tongue apparently had a mind of its own. "It seems cats are not very fond of me. I rescued one from a tree and it tried making mincemeat out of me."

"You rescued a cat from a tree?"

He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable laughter. It would come, he just knew it. The mocking laughter of hearing how the Dark One scaled a tree to save a kitten. If she weren't resigned to stay in his castle, she would tell everyone in the nearest village. He waited for the jeering, the poking of fun at his expense, the condescending _tsk-tsk-tsk…_

Instead, he felt Belle's hand land on his cheek. His eyes snapped open only to be taken aback by the brilliance of her smile. He couldn't think straight with her fingers cupping his cheek that way, almost in the manner of a lover.

"I think you should be proud to bear those marks. It's a sign that there might be some good in you somewhere," she murmured. Words eluded him, baffled as he was by her unexpected praise. Belle was the one to remove her hand from his face. "Would you care to have breakfast here in the dining hall? Or should I carry it up to your room again?"

Rumpel searched Belle's face for some sign of contempt, but only discovered earnest concern. He eyed his favorite chair longingly. The gloominess of his bedchambers wasn't very appealing and he didn't trust his self-control enough to let Belle anywhere near his bedroom door, at least while there was throbbing down _there_. Ooh, he could barely walk.

"I'd prefer to have my meal…here," he decided and turned his back to her, heading for his chair. The sooner he was sitting, the better. Gods, did Belle even notice that he…that his pants…there must be a bulge…It was torturous work to pretend nothing was going on in his lower regions while walking the length of the table.

"Are you sore?" The question made him halt in his tracks. Was his hearing off? He whirled around and thanked the gods she wasn't looking anywhere below his face.

"Excuse me?" His voice came out shrill in his astonishment. She blinked as innocently as Mary-Ann had when the girl mentioned the rose petals.

"Are you sore? You seem to be in pain when you walk," she noted. _Please don't ask to relieve it, please don't ask to relieve it, _he pleaded silently, while the throbbing only picked up pace. "If you're still recovering—" He breathed out a sigh. She thought he was still ill.

"No, I'm fine. Just…pulled a muscle climbing the tree," he said, rolling his shoulders. As a matter of fact, there were several knots in his shoulders, but he refused to ask Belle to rub them out. The stimuli would make his brain explode. He shied away from those Really Good Sensations.

"Perhaps you should run a warm bath after your breakfast. The warm water will help with the ache," she advised. Somehow, he severely doubted it.

…..

If ever he had to have one last meal in this world, he secretly hoped Belle was the one cooking it. Unlikely, but not impossible.

Most of the princesses in this realm were so self-absorbed and clueless that they would they would set their own backsides on fire in the kitchens, but Belle was a talented cook. Knowing her, she probably devoured every book and written text that involved ancient ways of preparing meals before trying it herself firsthand.

His tongue didn't know how to handle all the mouth-watering flavors. It was like sucking a lemon and having your lips pucker, but instead of being too sour, the food was almost too delicious on his palate. The roof of his mouth was coated in pleasurable tastes, his tongue writhing over his gums and still unable to lick up every last drop of goodness.

The sensitivity made the food nearly too enjoyable to the point of being a challenge to swallow it. Oh, but it was so delicious. It was an edible orgasm.

The bacon's grease lined the inside of his cheeks, lingering long after it traveled to his stomach. The eggs made him swoon in his chair and the tea…if he weren't sitting, he'd end up on the floor like poor old Chip.

"You seem to be enjoying your breakfast. You're moaning," Belle said from the opposite end of the table. His tongue ran eagerly over his lips, lapping every last bit of flavor in the corners. That was when his ears picked up the sound of his moans rising from his throat, moans derived purely from pleasure.

"Oh, I am," he sighed delightfully, rubbing his stomach. "How is the book?"

Belle's blue eyes rose over the top of her new book. She had asked his permission to read it during breakfast so as not to seem rude, to which he generously ushered her nose into its pages. If anything, it would keep her mind busy and her focus from roaming to him, as it often did. Belle readily smiled.

"It's excellent so far," she exclaimed, turning another page before taking a small bite of her food. If ever her eyes fell upon a man the way they did a book, that man would be very happy. "I always wanted to have an adventure of my own."

A twinge of guilt swept through Rumpel, dampening his mood when he remembered the reason Belle would likely never have that sort of adventure. Even when they were pursuing Robin Hood through the Enchanted Forest, she had enjoyed the scenery from their carriage.

Rumpel dipped his head forward, returning to his breakfast in sullen silence. He wiggled around in his seat. It seemed the sensitivity wouldn't let him get comfortable, especially when his rump started getting pins and needles from sitting in one position too long. It also didn't help that his leather pants had a nasty habit of riding up in all the wrong places.

He started in on the warm broth Belle made, but the constant clink of his utensils and necessary slurping unnerved him. It was a strenuous battle—his taste-buds greedily desired the broth, but the scraping of his spoon on the bottom of the bowl hindered his efforts.

"Do you still have a headache?" Belle carefully placed the book down on the table, caressing it like a slab of gold. He squirmed under her unwavering gaze. "You wince every time your spoon scrapes the bowl."

Was Belle that observant? He never appreciated it before. What else did she notice about him?

"I suppose you can say that," he mumbled, kneading his knuckles over his forehead.

Belle took up her own spoon and he tensed automatically. Was she planning to torture him cruelly? Bring him to his knees? Prove that the Dark One was not as powerful as people believed? _She wouldn't, _he scoffed bitterly. _Would she? _He had his doubts, but he knew from his own experience that people with power often sought to use that power.

A moment later, Belle put the spoon back down and wrapped her hands around her own bowl of broth.

"Why not try eating it this way?"

As he watched, she lifted the bowl to her lips and drank deeply from the rim. There was no sound of slurping, though he admired the way her swan-like throat rippled and convulsed as the broth ran its course. She put the bowl down, gently wiped her chin, and eyed him expectantly.

After a moment's hesitation, he mirrored her demonstration by taking his bowl into his hands. The broth sloshed over the edge and dripped on the table, but soon it was tunneling its way down his throat, a thick hot river that warmed his belly. This method of eating went easy on his ears.

For the first time, he wasn't suffering under the reign of his senses. The only think worth concentrating on was the flavor bursting in his mouth and the delicious smell of it in his nose. The bowl was empty too soon, the last few rivulets of liquid spilling down his chin. He settled back in his chair and reveled in the fullness of his belly.

"Thank you…Belle," he whispered. He knew she heard from the way her head tilted in acknowledgment before she returned to the riveting tale of adventure and heroism that was _The Odyssey. _Little did she realize he meant the words more than he could ever say.

…..

It was nearly every woman's innermost dream: to be swept off her feet by a valiant, handsome Prince Charming and be whisked away to happy ever after. They often fooled themselves into thinking there would come a day when they would ride off into the sunset astride a noble steed without a care in the world with their hero holding the reigns.

Perhaps they would do their daily chores at the well, sing a little tune to a couple of birds in their loneliness, and Prince Charming would appear, mesmerized as he was by the maiden's singing voice. Perhaps they would open their window one bright spring morning, air out their evil stepmother's laundry, and accidentally fall over the windowsill only to be caught from certain misery by Prince Charming.

Rumpelstiltskin had heard that particular detail pop up countless times in word-of-mouth fantastical stories in the villages. Even some of the books Belle found in his library dealt with the heroic act of rescuing a fair maiden just as she's at her most frightened, spiraling down in a flurry of skirts. How often in this world did girls fly off towers?

It was supposed to be charming, hence the name. Rumpelstiltskin saw it as a bad case of showing off.

For one thing, those stories never revealed the gritty truth of the price for catching the girl in midair. It was nothing but dazzling smiles, gratifying kisses on the cheek, and modesty in the form of something like 'as you wish, m'lady.' After that, the prince and maiden were supposed to get hitched, discover true love together, and live happily ever after.

Ah, the logic of fairytales. The truth wasn't so magnificent to behold.

Catching a maiden that was falling through the air was no easy feat. In fact, Rumpel would gladly call any of the countless Prince Charmings liars if they even implied that it could be done in their sleep.

On the contrary, saving a girl that way would put any man in a world of hurt. It wasn't like catching a pillow or a piece of clothing—this was a living, breathing, vastly accelerating human girl. If anything, the girl would use Prince Charming as a cushion to break her fall. That tremendous, sudden weight crashing into your arms would nearly break your limbs off and make every known or unknown muscle in your body scream. And not in the good way, either.

Rumpelstiltskin knew. He learned it the hard way that very day.

After the strange scene between him and Belle in the library the day before, he planned to lie low. He wasn't going to retreat to his bedroom, especially since he missed spinning, but he would keep to the dining hall-slash-trophy room. It wasn't Belle's day to dust that room, which meant he should have been free to spin in peace without alarming the sensitivity any more than necessary.

He should have…until Belle decided differently.

After an hour of steady work, he had gradually adjusted to the rickety creaks of the spinning wheel. It was almost melodic. The rough spindles of straw slipped through his fingers, transforming into gleaming gold. His palm caressed the smooth wood of the wheel as it circled. Its power over him increased with time, his admiration for the task growing with every ounce of straw.

_Creeeeaak. _The wheel stopped. That sound hadn't come from his wheel. He prodded it anyway with a finger, just to make sure it wasn't seconds away from toppling over him and crushing him. It didn't appear ready to fall apart, but the thing was going on 100 years old. He couldn't bear to part with it. _Screeeeeech. _

He clenched his teeth together and slapped his hands over his ears. Nope, that definitely wasn't his wheel. Oh, the torture of such a grating noise on his eardrums! He was sure that the wet, warm sensation on his fingers was blood from his swollen ears.

Prying open his eyelids, he noticed that Belle had edged open the dining room's door—the mystery creak he heard earlier. The terrible screech came from the tall ladder she was dragging behind her through the door. What in seven hells did she think she was doing?

_Screeeeeeech. _The ladder dragged across the ground as she made her way into the room. His hands offered little protection. He blinked and suddenly he was on his side on the floor. He must have tumbled over. Low _heee_ noises escaped his lips while his body rocked side to side. One thousand paper cuts were nothing compared to the liquid fire that used to be his brain.

"I'm so sorry," that honey voice fought for his attention, the red haze of agony dissipating temporarily. "It was a terrible sound. I was dragging the ladder in here and I didn't want to disturb you—"

Too late for that. It was the reason he was so eager to spin today, to escape _her. _No one else disturbed his thoughts as much as she did with a single blink in his direction. For the past few days or so, maybe longer if he cared to admit it, Belle had been the only thing constantly on his mind.

Now her hand was lifting his arm in an attempt to help him to his feet. It burned where she touched him while also giving him a wave of ice-cold relief, as if she were the water his parched throat craved in a desert. He roughly jerked away from her touch and stumbled to his feet before she could affect him more than she had already.

"It's fine. Just…carry on with whatever you're doing, but for the sake of the gods, do it quietly!"

Without awaiting her answer, he returned to his wheel and used the creaking of the wheel to block her presence out. He closed his eyes and concentrated solely on the thrumming of straw through his fingers, trying to separate it from all other sounds in his castle.

_Thump! _

His eyes shot open as Belle leaned the ladder against the wall. Then she steadily began to climb. Every rung groaned under her unfamiliar weight. She climbed almost to the top until she reached the highest point of the drapes shielding the windows.

As soon as she stopped moving, Rumpel became uninterested in whatever she was doing way up there. At least the swish of the curtains wasn't so disruptive. But in a few moments of determined tugging, the curtains grew still again.

"Why do you spin so much?"

The question caught him off-guard, abrupt as it was. It was brimming with child-like wonder. He offered her a sideways glance over his shoulder. What did he tell her about going about her business quietly? Now her curiosity was running amok. She must have sensed that he was reluctant to answer.

"Sorry. It's just…you spin more gold than you can ever spend."

His lips quirked the tiniest bit. That sounded like a challenge. He could always waste the gold on another castle…or a lifetime supply of alcohol to quell the loneliness and misery that was the Dark One curse. There were carriages, leather attire, renovating one of his rooms into one full of mirrors…Though, with all that ale, he'd likely have a blackout and create some sort of new fashion where one could wear clever sayings like 'like what you see, dearie?' and 'you want this' on one's rear end.

He laid a hand on the top of the wheel. He could feel Belle's eyes boring into his back, waiting. He had to give her something or else her curiosity would never wane.

"I like to watch the wheel turn. Helps me forget," he murmured, mostly to himself.

"Forget what?" He should have anticipated that follow-up question.

He willed the invading memories away. Memories of Bae as a boy playing with the ball his papa so tediously made from scratch, of Milah placing his newborn boy in his arms and his whispered oath of protection, of crude black stitches and lightning blue eyes embedded in the palms of a young girl, and that fateful night on the battlefield when he had truly been deemed a coward. His nostrils flared in seething anger, the old sting stabbing his heart, but he refused to let Belle witness his weakness.

"Guess it worked," he quipped dryly, followed by his trade high-pitched giggle. Ugh, that was unpleasant to endure. The shrillness, the unnatural pitch, the creepy way it reverberated off the walls…Was this how his customers felt whenever he giggled that way? So long as this sensitivity lasted, he would never giggle like that again.

Something even more shocking happened two seconds later: Belle laughed.

Her laugh spiraled down his spine in a good way. It was soft, subtle, yet silvery. The sound of it erased any idea of spinning from his mind, his back stiff as he perched on his stool. No one had laughed _with_ him in a long, long, long time.

Belle had gone back to the drapes, but Rumpel could not stop watching her. Before he knew it, his legs took over and rose from the stool, drifting to the ladder. He tilted his head up at her, but she was too busy insistently tugging the drapes to notice. Did she not like those drapes? If she only asked, he would wave his hand and have a whole curtain fashion show for her. The fabric rustled with a s_wish, swish, swish. _

"What are you doing?" Now _he_ was the curious one.

He dared to drift a little closer. From the right angle, he ended up seeing more of Belle than ever before, even though she did not realize it. Warmth crawled up the back of his neck and his eyes dropped to the floor. He wondered which was worse: the view of Belle way up high or Belle on her knees in front of him.

"Opening these," she replied, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Perhaps he didn't consider it because he'd lived so long in the darkness. "It's almost spring. We should let some light in." _Swish, swish, swish…_

As Belle shook the curtain, a cloud of dust swirled around his face, threatening to make him sneeze again. He squeezed the bridge of his nose tightly. He wasn't ready to relive _that_ awful experience. His brain had rattled around enough for one century; any more rattling and he might go permanently insane.

Belle gave a frustrated sigh and looked down upon him.

"What did you do? Nail them down?"

"Yeah," he answered immediately. It was a good thing, too, otherwise he would have had to adjust to the rays of sunlight every morning. Yet Belle would not relent. He fidgeted in his spot, waiting to see whether the curtains would hold.

_Swish, swish, swi—_

Without warning, the drapes ripped free of the wall, taking Belle with them. Almost in slow motion, her body leaned too far over the edge of the ladder, her small feet lifting off the step, her hand opening wide to release the cloth as her arms flailed for nonexistent support. He saw her falling forward, stretched out his arms to catch her, and—

_Holy flaming fairies! _

He cursed inside his head as his arms accommodated Belle's weight. The impact of her body jarred his limbs and made him stumble. He was pretty sure his stomach just fell in an avalanche to his boots. He bit down forcibly on the inside of his cheek to keep from showing just how uncomfortable stopping that fall had been.

Heroes made it look so easy.

That wasn't even the worst part. An extraordinary amount of sunlight streamed through the curtain-free windows, taking him by surprise. He couldn't even see anything! In exchange for seeing everything with his heightened eyesight, now he was blind like an old beggar on the streets.

There was only white, a thick wall of white as though he had dunked his head in a tub of cow's milk with his eyes open. Then, from that unbearable whiteness came two beautiful shining blue gems, followed by a mane of flowing auburn hair. Creamy skin with a hint of rose, petal-soft lips slightly parted in awe, a gentle hand around his neck. Blinking dazedly, he looked down to where Belle should be, still in his arms. It was the equivalent of an angel floating from the heavens above.

The whiteness dimmed and suddenly there was Belle in full form, the bodice of her sky blue dress rising with shaky breaths. Belle, in his arms. She was smiling and the adoration reflected in her eyes almost made him check over his shoulder to see if a royal Prince Charming snuck into his castle. She was so real and quite heavy in his arms, yet he bore her weight gladly.

Gods, this was the closest he'd been to a woman since…ever. It scared him a little and excited him at the same time.

"Thank you," she whispered breathily. His heart hammered in his chest, so much that he was convinced she could hear it even without any heightened senses. Blood drummed in his ears, his breath hitched in his throat to stall any bumbling words he might have said, and the muscles in his arms protested against bearing Belle's weight any longer. Oh, her hair smelled so good when it was this close to his face and her skin was so glorious in the sunlight.

Before he dropped her on the ground—not very chivalrous—he carefully set her down on her feet. She brushed off her skirts, which he now knew to be silky and light to the touch. A fabric easily donned and shed. She was still smiling at him as she would a handsome prince. It made him self-conscious and nervous and he prayed she didn't notice his blush. He pulled at the collar of his silk shirt; was it just him or was it too warm in this castle all of a sudden?

"I'll put the curtains back up," she promised, bending to scoop them up. He averted his eyes.

"There's really no need. I'll get used to it," he replied, much to both of their astonishment. After all, his eyes were still twitching from the sunlight. Maybe he just wanted Belle to stop _bending_ so voluptuously. Maybe he enjoyed the way the sunlight made Belle's skin glow. Or maybe he really was going mad.

Either way, he left her staring after him in perplexity. He had no idea what this odd sensation was that was overtaking him slowly but surely. It definitely earned a spot in the Really Good Sensation category, but this went far beyond simple fondness. It made his knees weak, it made his belly all fluttery and twisty, it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end—hairs that he didn't even know existed until then.

Whatever that had been, it shook him to the bone. There must be an easier way of dealing with the agonizing stimuli that was Belle. There had to be a way to numb this sensitivity, escape it, forget it for one measly night. Some substance, some concoction, some…

Then the idea hit him much harder than Belle crashing into his arms. It was stupid, it was risky…It was far too tempting to resist. Surely, the sensitivity would be no match for this world's magical ingredient of guaranteed numbness in a bottle.

He had to get drunk.

…..

_**Shout-outs are in order. For such great reviews in my inbox, I'd like to thank Huntress4455, zenobia2, ZombiesloveMangoes, Revenessa, Newland Archer, CloverKitten06, Claire, Grace5231973, cheesyteal'c, DragonRose4, SakuraBlossom58, and SwanQueen4055. Some of you gave me interesting suggestions for the story, too, which I appreciate. Thank you, everyone, for reading. **_


	4. Seven Mugs of Beer

_**A/N: Hello, readers! I think you'll find this chapter entertaining, but then again I tend to find a drunken Rumpel entertaining. There might also be a little surprise for you at the end. I also want to thank all those that are reading and reviewing—your words mean more to me than I can ever say. Enjoy!**_

Taking a swig of alcohol while oversensitive was the equivalent of taking your very first sip after sneaking away with your father's flask as a child. Hard to resist, tough to swallow.

It was one of Rumpelstiltskin's fleeting memories of his father and childhood—stumbling upon the flask's hiding place in the hole of a tree, being curious enough to tip it to his lips, nearly spewing it out as the liquid fire scorched his throat all the way down to his belly. His father never took his label as a coward well, so he did what cowards do best: curl up in a corner and hide. He drowned his sorrows and shame in the comfort of the drink instead of confronting the matter that troubled him; just another show of cowardice.

Rumpel was never a big drinker, though he could hold his liquor better than half the drunkards festering away in those seedy taverns. Yet it might be the only way to fend off this vast sensitivity if only for a little while, so Rumpel ventured out into the night to seek the nearest tavern. The possibility of having even an hour's worth of peace was priceless.

"Let the party begin," he muttered under his breath as he burst through the door of the tavern.

When the entire tavern becomes dead silent after you walk in, it is a sure sign that _a)_ you're a child whose head barely reaches the table, _b) _you're a sword-wielding, blood-drenched hero returning from battle amongst his awed peers, or _c) _everyone is afraid of you. For Rumpelstiltskin, it was the latter. He definitely wasn't _that_ short and there was no way someone would mistake him for a dashing Prince Charming.

Someone in the back crowed "we are all going to die", followed by the tell-tale _thunk_ of a head hitting the table. It was quiet after that.

His eyes glowed eerily from beneath the hood of his cloak as he scanned every last smarmy face, two orbs of molten gold searching for prey. One of the tavern wenches—a scrawny thing with barely any meat on her bones save for her breasts and a mop of brown hair—cast her eyes down as Rumpel's penetrating gaze swept over her, her nails digging into a torn piece of cloth meant for wiping tables.

With the swiftness of a rattlesnake, Rumpel slid in her direction and she gasped, stumbling backwards into an empty table. Did she think he was choosing her for his drinking partner? Or just partner in general?

"You look to be the type that has a thing for faces," Rumpel said, stroking his gray-gold chin. Who in this world could ever forget his lovely face? "Tell me, dearie…Am I in any way, shape, size, or form a new customer?"

The tavern wench fought to keep her eyes from traveling over the length of his body. It gave him the idea of rotating so she could better examine him from every angle. She shook her head. If she leaned any farther over that table, she'd be lying flat across it. Her eyes were impossibly wide with recognition and it surprised him that her eyeballs managed to stay in her head at all.

"N-no, sir. I remember you, of course I do," she stuttered, scrunching the front of her skirts in her hands anxiously. He was glad to have made such an impression. "You come in here at least once a month, usually to make deals or p-pick apart our bread," she answered timidly.

"Do I have something stuck in my teeth?" His lips pulled back from his untidy teeth. She shook her head frantically. "Did I forget my pants before leaving my castle?" He gracefully extended one foot before him and gestured to the lower half of his body. As he anticipated, the girl couldn't help her gaze flickering past his waist. She mutely shook her head again. "Is my hair sticking up? Am I speaking a different language? Is there a copy of me running around with a halo performing good deeds?" Three times she shook her head. Rumpel feigned shock, pressing a hand to his rapidly beating heart. "Then, why-oh-why is everyone _still_ _staring?"_

His voice climbed several notches over the last two words, betraying the nature of the beast that inhabited his body.

All at once, every head in the tavern whipped around, shoulders hunched like mountains, and an obviously forced murmur of chatter resumed. He grunted at the show of frightened, feigned indifference. "I'll see myself to my table. And would it kill you to sweep out the hay? It smells like I'm dining in the stables. Seems no one in this tavern has heard the words _tub, water, cleanliness, _or _gentleman _before, either."

"If you're lookin' for a fancy banquet, I'd suggest you try King George's kingdom, aye?"

A spindle-thin man with wiry hair and barely half his teeth had the gall to retort. He also had a wooden eye that startled Rumpel by rolling around in its socket. Most likely, the alcohol was the source of such confidence. A shorter, balding man next to him struggled not to choke on his ale, the cause of uprising laughter if Rumpel was correct. Rumpel made a pit-stop at Toothy's seat and stole his tongue, dropping it into his partner's drink.

"Next it'll be _your_ nose," he warned, flicking his fingers toward the shorter man's bulbous nose. It defied gravity; Rumpel didn't even know how that man walked around without his nose making him tip over like a sinking ship. Or was that what Toothy was here for? To make sure that thing didn't poke an eye out? Oops. The man yelped nonsensically and squeezed his nose with both hands, protecting it from Rumpel.

Rumpel pinched his own nose all the way to his seat in order to block out the nauseating stench of sweat, lust, grime, and smoke. He avoided speaking to anyone else along the way. With his fingers pinching his nose, he would sound like a chipmunk if chipmunks could talk. A chipmunk with a thick accent.

He always adored the table by the window. It was in the corner, so he was able to scope out the entire tavern. It was in front of the window, so potential customers would notice him inside, waiting to strike a deal if need be. It was dim enough in the evening so that he could easily blend in with the shadows if he didn't want to be disturbed. Even better, it was the least smelly area of the bar, something he hadn't bothered to notice before the sensitivity.

This was his seat. He even carved his name into the wood once. Granted, it said D.O. because his true name was too long, but everyone got the idea.

Rumpel settled into his usual chair. Only, it didn't feel like his usual chair. It was unbearably flat and hard under his bottom, forcing him to wiggle around unattractively to try to get comfortable. This chair just wouldn't do. He plopped into the one beside it, only to feel the same effects. Hard, lumpy, and uncomfortable. Plus, this one wobbled and when it wobbled it squeaked. It was annoying to hear nothing but _ee-_thud, _ee-_thud, _ee-_thud whenever he moved.

So he exchanged that chair for one across from it and sat down. Something small and round dug into his thigh. He stood and looked down at his seat to find a pea, gone rock-hard from sitting there for who knew how long. He flicked it away and it hit the nearest drinker, a muscled oaf with a worm for a mustache.

"Who's the imbecile—" The man spun around on his seat to see the Dark One aiming daggers with his snake-eyes. It amazed him that this mini-Ogre even knew the word _imbecile, _especially with those five mugs sitting in front of him on the table. Heat coursed along the man's neck. "Nice throw."

"If you think that's impressive, you should witness my archery skills. I never miss my target," Rumpel boasted with a wink. The man's face turned white as cow's milk. Rumpel chuckled to himself and settled for sitting in his usual seat, the one that didn't wobble or have leftover food. The tavern girl hurried over to serve him, though she did not quite meet his eyes.

"I'll take your strongest drink," he ordered, waving her off with a flourish of his hand. How many rolls in the hay did she make this evening? The scent of her was the exact opposite of Belle's. It was almost putrid to behold.

The tavern girl nodded once and quickly turned on her heel to fetch his order. A thought occurred to him: what if the drink was too strong on his newly sensitive taste buds and he found he couldn't hold it down?

"On second thought," he called out, stopping her in her tracks before she went too far. "Make it your lightest drink." That should do. The girl nodded again though the pinch to her lips betrayed her annoyance and confusion. Wait…what if this one was _too_ light and he couldn't get drunk at all? He leaped up from his seat. Dozens of eyes turned in his direction. "No, no, no! I changed my mind! Just…bring everything you have."

The tavern girl whirled around incredulously and stared at him from across the tavern. Stared at him as if he lost his mind. It wasn't too far off the mark, anyway.

"Everything?" She tilted her head dubiously. Was there an echo in here? He slapped his hands down on the table and regretted it as his palms burned from the impact.

"Did I stutter? Ev-er-y-thing," he pronounced slowly, as though he were communicating with a simpleton. The girl bristled at his insolence, but held her tongue. She probably figured she would lose it like Toothy over there. "Except water and milk. If it'll get me drunk, send it my way."

The tavern girl made no comment about the strangeness of his order nor did she inquire if he had money to pay for it. As Belle put it, he spun more gold than he could ever spend. _Tonight's the night I test that theory, _he mused to himself, rubbing his sore palms until they grew unbearably hot from the friction.

"And don't get any hairs in it, either!" He didn't favor the tavern girl trying to choke him. He didn't know whether the girl heard him, but he would steal Toothy's tongue for every hair he found. He'd magically pop it back in, rip it back out, pop it in, rip it out.

All at once, he realized how many eyes had landed on him during his indecisiveness.

"Any of you charmers up for archery practice? I need someone to hold the apple atop his head," he hissed. No one raised so much as a finger. He plopped back down in his seat. _Now I have to find my sweet spot again, _he grumbled inside his head. At this rate, he was on his way to inventing the art of Chair Dancing.

The tavern girl returned, balancing a tray that was loaded with mugs of alcohol. There were three of them, each a different size. One was exceptionally tall, one was pitifully small, and one was somewhere in between. She set the mugs carefully in front of him and awaited any further demand. He scrutinized all three mugs, his nose hovering over the rim of each one so that he may sniff the contents. None of them smelled pleasant, the bitter smell stinging his nostrils and making his eyes water.

_Well, no point in prolonging the inevitable, _he thought. _Take it like you would a potion, Rumpel. Down the hatch, smooth and steady. If only I had a spoonful of sugar to help it. _

"Hmm….should I try this one first? Or this one? You choose," he demanded the tavern girl, gesturing to the three mugs. She rocked uncertainly on her feet for a moment before pointing to the tallest mug. "Alrighty-then…Wait. Is there a reason you chose this one first? Or should I just take your word for it? Never mind—you picked the _tallest_, so I'll take the _smallest_."

He lifted the smallest mug and tilted it, the dark liquid sloshing inside. _Here goes nothing, _he thought, bringing it to his lips.

The alcohol drifted into his mouth and he had to slap a hand over his lips to keep from spewing it out onto the tavern girl. His foot pounded on the floor as he struggled to choke it down. Only, he must have swallowed too fast because it came out his nose the next second. A fountain of alcohol gushing out onto the table. _My nose, my lips, my throat…It burns, it burns, it burns! _

"Must be one of your strongest ones," he commented once his nose stopped scorching. He clucked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, despising the aftertaste of the alcohol. He wiped his chin and then rubbed his tongue on his sleeve, hoping to scrub off the taste. That only made him gag more. The taste of old leather wasn't appetizing.

"No…that's the lightest one," she said. He gaped openly at the three mugs sitting in front of him. If that was the lightest one…_This is going to be harder than I thought. _

….

The Evil Queen had been watching him for quite some time. Years, even; ever since she fully came into her power and moved on from his influence. Watching and waiting. Waiting to see if the great and powerful Dark One had any sort of Achilles' heel. He must have one.

It was tricky to observe Rumpelstiltskin for extended periods of time due to the impenetrable wards around his castle that nulled her magic and the sheets he used to cover his mirrors in case she found a way to peek inside. Her only hope of glimpsing her former instructor was when he moved out in the open, often conducting his deals. She would watch from troughs of water, from puddles on the ground, even from the glistening jewels that hung around the necks of royal women. Any reflective surface would do, really, though mirrors worked the best.

Though, it was a bit disturbing to watch Rumpel tease and taunt the women and stare at their breasts all the time. She always wondered how he might react if he ever looked deeply into one of those jewels and saw Regina's face hovering there. It might be worth a laugh.

Regina sipped her goblet of wine with a bitter curl to her lips. As of right now, Rumpelstiltskin was starting in on his third drink in a row. She knew from experience that he had taste for tea more than alcohol, so this little splurge intrigued her. Where the glass should be in the frame of her mirror, there was a strange view from the liquid in his mug. Gods, she could almost see up his nose!

_He must have some weakness, some chink in his not-so-shining armor, _Regina thought impatiently, narrowing her dark eyes to slits at her beloved mirror. _Everyone does. _But what was it? Even during the days of teaching her magic, he had never been open with her, always guarded and mysterious. As if he didn't trust her.

Whatever it was, she planned to find out and exploit it. She'd been anxious about his power for a long time. She had the sneaking suspicion that he never taught her _everything _he knew. Men with power seek to use that power. In her case, she had extraordinary power at her disposal, but she feared losing it to him. Betrayal was not an unfamiliar concept in her world.

Snow White was not her only enemy in the Enchanted Forest—far from it. She foolishly involved herself with Rumpelstiltskin one too many times, relied on his expertise more than she could afford. There was no telling when that sick little imp might plunge a knife in her back. That man would trade her off for a strawberry tart.

Besides, if she succeeded in vanquishing the Dark One, she'd be doing everyone in the Enchanted Forest a favor. She would gain his power, enough to annihilate Snow White, and the good people would be free of a malevolent, baby-snatching, giggling beast. Everyone wins. Except for Snow White, who would be dead.

So she watched, absorbing every worthwhile detail while Rumpel drank himself into a stupor for ten men. She began to notice small, pleasing details. Details that she had noticed here and there during his dealings this past week. The way it seemed a challenge for Rumpel to gulp down his drink, as if it were poison in his mouth. The way he winced and groaned every time there was a small sound, such as the scraping of a utensil on a plate or a roar of laughter. The way he barked at the other drunkards in the tavern to quiet down. The way he could never get comfortable, squirming restlessly as though someone dumped a tray of insects in his clothes.

Why, if she didn't know any better, she'd say that there was something bothering him. She'd say that….

That he was too sensitive for his own good.

A wicked smirk twisted her blood-red lips. All at once, she knew what was troubling her dear mentor.

Her friend Maleficent specialized in magical curses of the mind: sleeping curses, truth serums to force of hoard of secrets to unfold, compulsion, infiltration of the mind that caused the victim to suffer hallucinations…and then there were the sensitivity curses. Powerful, dark spells that attacked the most natural of inner workings in the body.

In truth, there were several different types of sensitivity spells, each attached with their own dangerous side-effects should a person have the misfortune of stumbling upon them. Though, she doubted Maleficent told her everything she knew during their teatime. Honesty was much like sacrifice these days: vastly overrated.

There were lust spells, capable of significantly heightening a person's sexual hunger until it was the only thing they thrived on. Ordinary nourishment—food, drink, sleep—became futile. Concoct a strong enough lust spell and two lovers could go at it all night without slaking their desire. Their only hope was to continue doing it until they were satisfied…or die trying.

Secondly, there was the Plague of the Five Senses, dealing specifically with the sensations of touch, taste, smell, hearing, and sight. Everything in the environment turned against you. Finally, there were the cases of Emotional Investment. Rage, depression, happiness, longing, fright, excitement—every emotion became astronomical to shoulder. If Rumpel had that one, he would die of fright, literally explode with rage, and sink into the deepest depths of despair, crying nonstop into his pillow like a hormonal pregnant woman about to give birth.

The answer was clear as day. Rumpel had the Plague. She snickered over the rim of her goblet. _Oh, Rumpel…you've bitten off more than you can chew, haven't you? _

Fortunately for him, the Plague was arguably the least devastating of the sensitivity curses that she knew of, though the rising levels of the five senses could evoke sensations similar to the weakest lust spells. The five senses ensured your perception and responsiveness to the world and if something turned you on because of a woman's scent or the feel of a lover's fingertips across your skin….the consequences could be messy.

Regina's fingers curled tightly around the stem of her goblet as she imagined the things she could do with this knowledge. What if she showed up at his castle with a basket of freshly picked flowers? He'd sneeze to death or at the very least turn his brain into cooked stew. Or what if she sent a horde of bees after him? Their stings would feel like swords on his skin, pricking and stabbing…

Or….

"_Seven mugs of beer on the wall…seven mugs of beer. I choke them down to be free of Belle…Eight mugs of beer on the wall…"_

She cocked an eyebrow in alarm as Rumpel sloppily began to sing to himself. Maybe it served as a distraction from having to force down his alcohol. It must not be an easy feat. _Trying to get numb, are we, Rumpel? Tsk-tsk-tsk. That'll hardly work, you silly man. _

Belle. That was the name he said, wasn't it? Or was it Bella with a little slur at the end? The sweet princess he took from the kingdom near Avonlea; Regina knew all about that event. She supposed the girl was innocent and pretty enough to stoke Rumpelstiltskin's fire. He always seemed to have a thing for princesses.

Could she…? No, she couldn't possibly be…his true love?

Even a foul, black-hearted monster like him must have one, though Regina hadn't found her yet. It made her shudder to think of Rumpel ever having a true love or what he might do with her if it were true. There was no way that little mouse was living in his castle untouched by his grimy claws. Even if this princess wasn't his true love, an unexpected passionate kiss might be thrilling enough to make Rumpel fall head over heels…into his grave.

Love and sensitivity did not mix well.

_But how to orchestrate such a kiss? He has to let her out sometime, doesn't he? Surely he won't allow his precious rose to wilt in that dark, dank castle he calls a home. If not, I have other ways of planting thoughts in foolish girls' heads. _Who knew? This could turn out to be a fun game on her part.

Regina went back to sipping her wine, smiling this time instead of scowling.

"Ugh, how many times must I see inside his mouth?" Regina shivered from the gruesome visual in her mirror before waving it away, the image returning to smooth glass. _Note to self: drinks do not make good places to spy from. _

….

_"Eight mugs of beer on the wall, eight mugs of beer…I force them down or in Belle I drown….Nine mugs of beer on the wall." _

It truly wasn't so rough after the first few mugs. By _not so rough, _he meant the drinking went from _worst nightmare _to _completely horrendous. _Believe it or not, it was progress.

Gods, how did men swallow this stuff? He might as well stick his tongue in a roaring fire and wait for it to toast. Not even the stares were that disturbing anymore, most of which he earned from his constant writhing on the tabletop. Twice the tavern girl tried to cut him off before he ever really started.

The sensitivity was persistent. The alcohol was fighting to numb his senses, but they only dipped a degree, maybe two per…five mugs. He tested it by hopping into the wobbly seat and wobbling, his arms waving in the air as his thighs worked to shift the chair back and forth. If there was any change, it was barely noticeable. The chatter was still deafening and once the tavern girl clumsily dropped a whole tray of mugs that made his ears felt like they'd been poked with an axe.

"Will you all pipe down? Indoor voices!" Rumpel finally shouted over the tremendous roar. The squeaking of the rodents on the straw-ridden floor were the only sounds after that. Couldn't a man just drink in peace?

The way this was going, he would have to drink three times as much as the average man in order to put a decent dent in this sensitivity issue. And yet, he thought he could feel his body wearing out, slowing down, his organs giving into the duress of the alcohol. He could feel himself getting slowly but surely…drunk. If he didn't poison himself first.

"Another," he demanded sharply, sliding his empty mug across the table to where the tavern girl waited. It rocked side to side, spinning faster and faster until it settled in one place. She crossed her arms under her breasts and made no move to take the cup. He snapped his fingers twice and watched her cringe—not from the sound, but from his behavior. He envied her. "Come on, come on, I'm not getting any younger here, am I?"

"That will be the ninth one in a row," she pointed out snippily. He sneered up at her. Who replaced the timid mouse with the fierce lioness? Or was this what happened when you served a woman alcohol? He briefly wondered what Belle would be like if he switched her tea for alcohol. "You can barely keep your head off the table as it is."

His head started to droop again, as it did every few minutes now. This time, his forehead hit the table with a hollow _thunk. _He lifted his head and rubbed his brow, soothing the ache. He accusingly pointed a finger toward the tavern girl. Or he would if his finger stayed in one place.

"Let me get this straight: are you cutting off the Dark One?" She gave no answer, but the guilt was readable on her face. Still, she stood her ground and ignored the empty mug on the table. "I have no qualms about turning you into one of them." He jerked his finger to the right, pointing. The tavern girl followed his direction, but her face revealed more confusion than fear.

"A…stool?" A what? He looked to where he was pointing and scowled. Naughty finger. He used his other hand to guide it toward the right spot. _Stay…right…there, _he encouraged it while trying not to topple over in his seat.

"No, not the stool! What kind of fate is it to have people sitting on you all day? Them! Them! The potatoes with whiskers. The _rodents_," he clarified. The tavern girl scrunched her nose as a particularly large rat with a ropey tail and beady eyes skittered in the corner. "They're everywhere! Ever wonder why they're multiplying so fast? Other than nature at its finest?"

He cocked his head to listen to the tune of _squeak, squeak, squeak. _The girl gulped nervously, but did not back down. Perhaps he should provide her the friendly advice of steering away from alcohol. She was starting to look too much like Milah in his mind. He sighed and weakly rose to his feet. Whoa…the world was spinning sideways…in so many colors…

"Have it your way. Don't expect me to recommend this place to my pals," he pouted, swaying around the table. On his way toward the door, he tripped over his feet and knocked his knee into a stool. "Just for the record, your alcohol is only one step above water. I still felt that."

….

If there was one thing Rumpelstiltskin learned about the mishaps of magic, it was this: it was not a good idea to transport while intoxicated.

With the heavy, sluggish numbness of alcohol cloaking his mind, it became difficult to picture anything in his castle except the dining hall where Belle had fallen into his arms. In his unsound mind, he thought it was a good idea to transport, but ended up slamming down atop his dining hall table. The impact was sudden and forceful, his back terribly rigid as it met the table that felt more like stone instead of wood. The sound reverberated through the entire castle, making him grind his teeth. White-hot stiffness spiraled up and down his spine and for a minute he was afraid he couldn't move.

Even worse: the sound stirred Belle. Within several heartbeats' time, the sound of the soft padding of her footsteps on the stairs reached his ears.

_Spare me…That inescapable stimuli is the reason I got drunk in the first place, _he silently pleaded to the heavens, still lying flat on his back. He never knew the ceiling arched that high. Or was the alcohol playing tricks on his vision? He stretched his hand above his head, splaying his fingers apart and wiggling them. He studied the hatched pattern of his skin cells and the parallel grooves of his lifelines.

He had the clearest vision of any drunkard in the Enchanted Forest.

A white shape darted in his peripheral vision and suddenly Belle was standing over him, bottom lip caught under her teeth. He could smell the roses from here, her skin embellishing its scent. My, she was up so high…like a diamond in the sky…

"Did you string yourself up from the ceiling and launch yourself into the table?" He frowned in confusion, his brows straining to knit together. Who would be foolish enough to try something like that? "You could have woken the dead," she added, leaning over to examine his body, probably for injury. There was no way she was admiring the view. He squeezed his fingers together while he squinted at her. "What are you doing?"

"Mmm…Your head is too big to be captured by my fingers," he mumbled. "Must be all those books you read." He pinched his fingers together, the empty space forming what looked like a teardrop. Groaning, he rolled onto his side and succeeded in rolling completely off the table. The floor was no softer than the table and it smelled strangely like lemons.

Belle immediately knelt to help him up, her velvet fingers roaming over his hand and waist, but he scurried beyond her reach.

"I'm fine! Leave me be," he insisted, his voice coarse. _Before you render those nine bottles of alcohol useless, _he finished in his head.

Belle sniffed. At first he assumed she was crying from the rejection and waited for the water to glimmer in her big blue eyes. But then she drew a little closer and sniffed again. Her nose scrunched as it wandered close to his vest.

"Are you…are you drunk?" He swayed unsteadily on his feet. His tongue ran over his slick teeth and gums, which were still coated with the acrid taste of alcohol.

"What gave it away? My graceful footing? My refined speech?" His words slurred and he nearly toppled while performing a small jig.

Belle was unnaturally still, even for her. She could spend hours curled up in the same position with a book, but it did not compare to the statuesque posture she now held. A glorious marble statue, the fabric of her sky blue dress practically glowing in the moonlight. The way she looked at him now, guarded and unsure, was the way she would indulge a stranger.

"Or was it my charming breath?" He deliberately sucked in a generous breath through the nose, then gagged. "Then again, it might also be the onions you threw in the stew." Belle's hands curled together in front of her chest, as though she were making a secret wish on the Blue Star. If she brought that pesky ball of winged fire in his castle, she was _so_ fired.

"Are you depressed about something? Trying to run away from—"

"I am not a coward," he exclaimed. Belle approached him slowly, cautiously, her hands now extended in front of her in a misguided attempt to calm him. The sight of her hands did everything except calm him; they excited him, they frightened him, made him long for comfort he had not felt in years.

It was a passing thought, born from the deepest corners of his mind, starting as a splash and turning into a towering wave. Maybe….maybe this was a losing battle, after all. Maybe it was pointless to fight this sensitivity. Maybe, just for a night, he should let it have its say, give in to it, unleash it and let it consume his every aching breath…

_No, _a tiny lingering voice of reason screeched inside his head. _That's the alcohol talking! Resist! Resist! _

"I didn't say you were," Belle continued, stopping a mere foot from where he stood. Did she sense the distress running wild through his mind? She was cornering him even if she did not realize it. She was an obstacle between him and the door. "You didn't let me finish. Haven't you heard what they say about making assumptions?"

He didn't know who _they _were and he didn't rightly care, either. So long as Belle didn't offer personal tours of his castle for gold. He perched his chin atop his hands and batted his eyelashes.

"No, what do they say? Tell me, tell me," he mocked. The jeering was brief as Belle dared to catch ahold of his hands in hers, gently guiding them down to his sides. He did not fight, shocked as he was by the physical contact. Her fingertips remained for a minute over his before she drew them away.

"Never mind it. The alcohol tends to have the same effect. My point was….you must have some reason for drinking this way." She peered up at him, patiently waiting and encouraging him to reveal the contents behind the curtain that was his cranium. Suddenly, he felt as though every muscle in his body had overworked itself. He was tired of running circles around Belle.

"Oh, I have a very good reason for drinking, alright. And it involves…Y-O-U," he stated, tapping her nose with every letter. Her nose was button-like and quite small. Her breath tickled his finger and he jerked it away, staring at it as though it was someone else's finger attached to his hand.

Brilliant hues of pink flooded her cheeks as she flared.

"Me?" Was she having difficulty translating his slurs? Maybe she could make better use of this sensitivity than he could.

"Oh, good, you can spell. That means only one of us is drunk," he retorted. He waved his hands over his body, his fingers flexing outwards, but his smell still followed his every step. "Seriously, dearie, leave out the onions next time."

A change rippled over Belle, transforming her before his two superior eyes. Gone was the people-pleaser, the obedient maid, the concerned girl that was the bane of his existence thus far. In her place was an agitated, upset woman whose fists were balled at her sides and whose blue eyes had dropped several degrees in temperature.

Belle was angry, but somehow knowing that he was the cause of it only seemed to goad him even more. _Will I never win?_

"What do I have to do with your reckless alcohol abuse?" Being clueless wouldn't win her any points in his book. Surely she must have noticed the effect she had on him whenever she entered the room or dared to lay a hand on him. Someone so observant and well-read could not possibly miss the biggest sign of them all.

"You have everything to do with it because I can't stand to be around you for a single minute of the day! There, I said it!" He threw his hands in the air, which only made his stiff back scream in protest. He rubbed his sore back, wondering if he had finally thrown it out.

Belle showed no sympathy for once. She took a hesitant step back.

"If I'm so irritating to you that you must resort to drinking, then why not do yourself a favor and release me?" He whirled on her incredulously. Irritating? Release? Oh, gods, not _that_ word. His lower extremities fought for dominance over his mind. _Resist…resist…_

"Oh, now who's making the ass-ump-tions?" He chidingly wagged his finger in her face. He whipped it away before she could grasp it. "You misunderstood me. It's not that I find you irritating, so to speak. You're…you're…" Belle held her chin high, preparing herself for the remark.

"Yes? What am I to you, Rumpelstiltskin?" The way she was spurring him on-especially the way she said his name-made his logic go unheard in his mind. The truth was building inside him, begging to burst from his mouth. "You claim you're not a coward, so out with it. I'm what?" His tongue was heavy and it refused to say what he wanted it to say.

"You…you make me want to…"

He paused and that one pause turned out to be his downfall. There was no other way to make her _see_, but to show her exactly what he meant. Without thinking twice or considering the repercussions, he snaked an arm around her small waist, reeled her in, and planted his lips hard against hers.

The kiss was explosive. It was laced with fire and ice at the same time. The moment his lips met Belle's, his lungs forgot how to deflate and exhale the air building in his chest. The pressure was only made worse by the way his heart threatened to spring through his vest and into her hands. Ironically, Belle's lips were the only thing keeping him from falling away to the floor.

Her lips were softer than he ever guessed, softer than if he held a fresh rose to his nose and brushed his lips over the petals. His hands were draped around her waist, memorizing the small of her back, and her own hands fluttered near his neck though she made no attempt to strangle the life from him. Her lips were doing that already, even if Belle was too stunned to react.

She tasted like strawberries and sugar and the most delicious tea he never had the pleasure of drinking. Gods, he wanted to drown headfirst in it. It was a refreshing bucket of cold water dumped over his head, washing away the stubborn effects of the alcohol. Her lips parted slightly and his tongue slithered through, touching the tip of her tongue and, _ooh_, that electric tingle went straight to all ten toes!

It might have lasted a minute, but it might have easily lasted the entire night.

When it finally broke, he felt headier than he did under the influence of nine bottles of alcohol. It was the same effect as being suffocated with a pillow, having to gasp and pull in gales of fresh air, filling his lungs with new life. Except this suffocation felt good. Really, really good.

"Do that," he finished breathily, his hands sliding away from Belle's supple hips. The feel of her silky dress stayed with him even after rubbing his fingers together. Belle was quiet. She touched her fingers to her lips, as if wondering if he truly did that. "You make me want to do that. Sometimes. Ooh…Aahh…here come the Really…Pleasurable….Sensations….Oh, _yeah_."

He fell back against the glass cabinet that hosted the teacups and kettles, the doors rattling. There was no other word for the wave of euphoria except….heavenly. Dizzying. Strange. Belle had no trouble deciphering what was going on this time. Her eyes flickered down to his legs and shot back up again, a blush creeping in on her neck as if she caught an eyeful of him unclothed instead.

She didn't say anything for a long time. Her fingers wrung together, a white ladder forming and breaking apart. For once, he desperately wished to peek inside her mind and see what she was thinking. Did he frighten her? Or intrigue her? Or was she in the process of making a vow to forget this moment ever happened?

Perhaps that would be for the best.

"Do you…want me to help you to bed?"

His nails scraped over the wood of the cabinet as he straightened himself. At first he was afraid she meant….but it was just her being helpful, of course. Concerned. Reverting back to the girl who was here under contract. He swallowed the thick lump in his throat and stumbled forward, eyes trained on the door.

"No, I can handle it," he said. Halfway there, his legs grew unbearably tired and refused to take another step. The alcohol's effects returned with a vengeance. In the end, he flopped down face-first on his dining table and curled into the fetal position, his knees tucked close to his chest. He was asleep in seconds.

Belle eyed the dealmaker with a mixture of uncertainty and wonder. She lightly touched her fingers to her lips again, the taste of him staining her lips. Even with the bitterness of alcohol, it wasn't a bad taste. She had no idea what to make of it.

Logic settled the matter for her, as it did for so many things. He was drunk, that was all there was to it. It meant nothing.

Even in the deepest chamber of her heart, Belle knew that simply was not the full truth. There was something else going on with Rumpelstiltskin, the infamous Dark One, and it was most certainly not illness. She noticed the way he cringed whenever there was a particularly sharp sound or gasp whenever she touched him in the smallest way, be it intimate or not. It bothered him, unnerved him, unwound him as though she unraveled a piece of clothing by the string.

Was it something to do with magic, perhaps? Or something even more severe?

Whatever it was, Belle's curiosity had peaked and there was no shutting it down now. She vowed to find out what was truly the matter and help him, if she could. For now, she retrieved a spare blanket and pillow from one of the many bedchambers and set about making him comfortable for the night.

The next morning, Rumpelstiltskin awoke on his dining table with a splitting headache, a sand-dry mouth, and a miserable emptiness in his belly and vowed never to drink again. He did not remember a single detail of the previous night.

….

_**Shout-outs: I'd like to thank Huntress4455, NicoleMuenchSeidel, Spinning Folly, CrossBreed777, ZombiesloveMangoes, Revenessa, DragonRose4, NJSoleil, raeymaeker, Grace5231973, 13, and SwanQueen4055 for their awesome reviews. Thanks for reading, everyone! **_


	5. The Monster's Weaknesses

"Rumpelstiltskin, perhaps you don't remember due to the influence of several alcoholic drinks, but you and I…we…"

Oh, that would never do. It sounded foolish even to her ears. And what if the man did not have any memory of what he did the previous night? Most likely, he would assume she was making a clever joke this morning and giggle.

Belle sighed deeply, the sudden rush of air blowing a few loose strands of hair off her forehead. She cleared her throat, prepared to try again as she fixed together her master's breakfast. This subject could not simply be avoided; what happened last night was monumental to behold. It wasn't as easy to shrug off as picking up a fallen napkin from the floor.

"Rumpelstiltskin, I've noticed that you're overly sensitive lately. I was wondering if it had anything to do with…how you might feel…about me?" Was that too blunt of a question? Would he scold her for such nonsense or would it be the pickaxe needed to strike down his walls? Maybe he was afraid to make a move toward her that way. Sober, at least.

That way…

Belle laid the tray of tea and breakfast down and traced her finger around the rim of one of the cups as she lost herself in thought. Never before had she been this nervous or worked up over a man. Not the ones in her kingdom, not the royals seeking her hand in marriage, and certainly not Gaston. Gods, it was just a man!

So why all of a sudden did her head feel fuzzy inside and her mouth cotton-dry and her knees incapable of supporting her body? Her footwork was noticeably springier, her heart lighter, a smile coming easier to her lips.

It all went back to that trivial kiss.

It sent sparks dancing along her fingertips and chills skating down her spine at the same time. It made her feel like she could fly while still being somewhat grounded to the earth and…whole. It made her feel whole, as though she had been missing a piece of her soul all this time. It baffled her, excited her, it even scared her. She'd never felt this way in all her life.

Was that tremble in her limbs born of the possibility that Rumpelstiltskin might harbor something…intimate for her? Was such a thing even true? That underneath the guise of a beast there was a handsome prince in need of love? Or was she reading too much into his drunken kiss? _That must be it, _she concluded solemnly. _It was a drunken kiss. Maybe I'm reading too many stories after all. _

Her father often told her that her mind was a sponge, absorbing every little detail within every dusty tome she could get her hands on. She had a very good memory and spoke more than one language. It was safe to say that Belle knew a lot about the workings of the world, even if she had not seen much of it beyond her kingdom or this castle. But this…the meaning of this kiss…she did not know. For the first time that she could remember, her mind drew a blank.

She tried to pinpoint the exact moment that Rumpel might have begun to feel something for her—assuming there was a chance he might, anyway. Did it happen on their journey to find Robin Hood? Was there a spark when she hugged him after he spared Robin Hood's life? Was it before or after he caught her in his arms?

She did not know. The curiosity and need for answers bothered her.

There were so many questions on her tongue. Did he feel something special or did it involve this conundrum of his so-called illness? Would it fade once he got better? Or was there no cure for whatever was plaguing him?

She wanted to ask him; she just wasn't sure how to go about it. Her chance might come over breakfast. _Brilliant, Belle, _she chastised herself. _It'll be something along the lines of: _may I have the bowl of bread, sir? Oh, that reminds me…is there a reason you're so sensitive around me? Do you want me secretly?_ The poor man will spill his stew on his shirt. _

The thunderous sound of a crash on the second floor jolted Belle out of her reverie. Rumpelstiltskin must be awake. Scooping up the tray, she hastily climbed the grand staircase and veered toward the dining hall. She pushed the door open with her hip and found Rumpelstiltskin sitting on the floor, massaging his thigh.

His eyes, which might have been bloodshot had they been normal, roved wildly about the sunlit room, his brows knitted together fiercely, and his lips puckered in a troubled frown. The hand that rubbed his thigh moved to the back of his neck, regardless of his obvious discomfort in rubbing, as though he could coax an elusive thought to the front of his mind. He had the lost, confused look of a drunkard trying to remember how they got from Point A to Point B.

"Morning, sir," she greeted politely, as she often did. No matter how dreary the situation, she felt it was always best to start the morning off on the right foot. Rumpelstiltskin blinked dazedly at her, woozily leaping to his feet. She crossed to the table and set the tray down. "Is something wrong?" _Something that connects back to that mysterious illness of yours? Or maybe the alcohol is leaving its mark. _

"Belle," he drawled dreamily. It seemed he was struggling to form proper words, his eyes uncomfortably closing. "Gods, I have a splitting headache. It feels…like someone is tapping my head with an axe. And I appear to be missing several hours of memory. What exactly…did I do when I came back last night?"

Belle immediately tasted him on her lips again and she fought the urge to bring her fingers to her tingling mouth. Her fingers itched to wring her blue skirts, but she denied them that as well. He was watching her closely, trying to gauge a reaction to his probing question. She sensed he would know if she was lying.

"You transported back to your castle by magic and landed on the table. You were too intoxicated to make it to your bed, so I brought you a pillow and blanket to make you comfortable," she explained, choosing her words carefully. None of those details were lies, but she supposed she was lying by omission. Her cheeks grew hot as they did when she was holding something back.

"That explains why I woke up and rolled onto the floor," he muttered, pressing a hand to his side. "I think I bruised my stomach. Or broke a rib. Or both."

Belle felt an overwhelming rush of sympathy for him. He blinked rapidly against the golden sun filtering in through the windows. She wished she had not ripped the curtains down or else she would close them to prevent the sunlight from blinding him like it was. He perched on the edge of the table, his back facing the windows and his head tucked down. His knuckles kneaded the gold-grey skin of his forehead, rising up and down rhythmically.

"A cup of tea might soothe your headache," she suggested, holding out a teacup to him in offering. She did not realize until he accepted it that it was the chipped cup. Their fingers lightly brushed around the cup and he shivered—from revulsion or pleasure, she could not say. He took tiny sips of the tea, experimentally tasting it on his palate.

The silence around them was thick. She heard every breath Rumpelstiltskin took, every moist slurp of the tea, every groan of the table under his weight. Even though he tried to hide it over the rim of his teacup, his reptilian eyes kept flickering back to her, as though tied to her body by a golden string. She wondered if her presence was helping him or unnerving him.

Perhaps if she got him talking, it would ease him. Perhaps it would provide her an opportunity to broach the subject of what was truly bothering him. _You never know until you try, _she thought optimistically.

"So," she started, settling beside him on the table. For what it was worth, he did not recoil. However, he was staring hard into his cup of tea and inhaling deeply like he smelled something pleasant. It must be the tea. "I've had a few months to look around. Upstairs…there are clothes. Small, as if for a child. Were they yours or was there…a son?"

The tea inside his cup rippled as his hands trembled. Grief etched over his mystical features, aging him vastly with creases around his eyes and temples. Belle gently touched his wrist and he gasped, sucking in air like he was afraid of running out of it.

"Yes, there was a son. I lost him," he said, his voice wrought with despair. He avoided meeting Belle's concerned gaze. She slowly withdrew her hand from his wrist and he seemed to relax a little, his muscles not so tense.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. In truth, she was sorry for so many things lately. She was sorry about his son. She was sorry for ripping down the curtains, even if it was accidental. She was sorry for not being able to understand the personal dilemma he was dealing with and thereby causing him greater stress.

He did not answer. She longed to break through those fearsome walls he had constructed around his entire being. Were the gods so cruel to him in this world that he learned not to trust a single soul?

"If I'm never to know another person in my entire life, can't I at least know you?" She craned her neck to peer at his face underneath the wiry strands of his golden-streaked hair.

"Perhaps…" He murmured, sliding off the table. He pointed a finger accusingly at her chest. "Perhaps you just want to learn the monster's weaknesses."

It was spoken in jest, not accusation. He made a few nonsensical _nyeh _sounds, earning him a smile. She grasped his hand again and guided it down to his side, much to his shock. Had a woman never touched him before? She knew he could not be _that_ inexperienced, if he had fathered a child. She was naïve about some things yet, but not enough to be oblivious to how the world worked _that way. _After all, had she chosen to stay in her kingdom, the Ogre Wars would either demolish her entire kingdom or she would marry Gaston and be expected to carry a baby in her belly in as little as a year.

"You are not a monster," she argued. He looked like he didn't believe it. Fortunately for her, he had unknowingly given her the opening she needed to ask the question she truly wanted to ask. "Speaking of weaknesses, I've noticed you haven't been yourself the past few days. You told me you were ill, but I think there's more to the story. Is something bothering you?"

He straightened to full height, the sudden movement causing some of his tea to slosh out of his cup. He drew away a few paces. Belle recognized his reluctance and swooped forward to latch onto his silk sleeve. His eyes widened. Was her touch that vexing to him?

"Please, tell me. You always gasp when I touch you as if you can't bear it. Whenever I hum, you wince or sigh. Whenever there's a disruptive noise of some sort, you cringe. Last night, you resorted to drinking to escape your problems. Please, tell me so that I can help you."

Rumpelstiltskin stared down at her fingers clutching his sleeve. He either did not have the strength to pry them off or he was afraid of what might happen if he touched them. Not for the first time this week, he appeared worn and did not argue against her pleas.

"You have to understand: it's been a very, very long time since I resided under the same roof as another woman. Or anyone, for that matter." Belle nodded eagerly, though she felt sorrow for him. _Have you been alone that long? _"As the Dark One, I have heightened senses beyond human capacity. Every night, I heard you whimpering in your cell. Every day, I was surrounded by your humming. It was maddening; I couldn't take it. So I concocted a potion that was meant to dull my senses. But something went wrong and now…my senses are heightened twice-fold. No, ten-fold. You claim I came home drunk last night, but what you fail to realize, dearie, is that I am constantly drunk on _you_."

Belle absorbed every syllable he uttered, weighing its truth, replaying the events of the past few days with a new perspective. He was oversensitive. That was why he cringed following the scraping of a fork on a plate or a knock on a door. That was why he experienced euphoria over his meals, why he could not stand to have her touch him.

She did him a favor by releasing his sleeve. Her mind raced to process the new information. The screech of the ladder as she dragged it into the dining hall, falling into his arms, that paper-cut…Oh, the poor man must have been in agony. _It's all because of me. And I never knew. _

There must not be a solution or else he would have corrected his sensitivity by now. Meanwhile, she was simply making it worse by being around him. What was she to do except keep her distance?

"Thank you for being honest with me," she replied sincerely. She did not reach out to him. Before he could answer, there was a sudden knock at the castle's door. As she watched, he shuddered as the pounding echoed throughout the castle. Belle offered to see to it, but he readily waved it off.

"Let me handle it," he said, flitting off before she could object. She suspected he needed the fresh air and the excuse to escape her. She went about dusting the delicate items in the cupboard, taking extra care not to send flurries of dust wafting through the air. If she wasn't careful, Rumpelstiltskin might wheeze or sneeze, none of which would be pleasant for him.

She wondered if he heard her reciting what to say this morning. He didn't appear to remember that they kissed the previous night. It was amazing that the kiss did not make his heart give out then and there.

Rumpelstiltskin returned shortly, lingering in the doorway. It was the farthest he could be from her while being in the same room. Whatever the matter was, she doubted it was one of his deals. The way he bartered with most people, it took him more than a few minutes to reach a settlement. With a heavy heart, she knew that most people were not as selfless or quick at decision-making as she was.

"What was that about?" She turned around and noticed that Rumpelstiltskin had a long-stemmed red rose between his fingers. He stuffed his nose among its petals and sniffed, only to wobble on his feet, heady from the fragrance.

Did he have a secret admirer? Was that where all those roses in the foyer came from? Other women? _Now, Belle, _she berated herself. _Do I detect a hint of jealousy? A spiteful green monster rearing his head? _Oddly, she imagined the words spoken in Rumpel's lilt, not her own.

"Just an old beggar woman selling flowers," he said, twirling the flower through his fingers. Belle thought it strange that an old beggar woman would risk the freezing temperatures and steep climb of the mountain to sell roses to the Dark One, but she was too distracted by his next move to say anything about it.

With a graceful little bow, he held the rose out to her, challenging her to take it with a perked eyebrow. No one had ever given her a rose before. Closing the distance between them, she graciously accepted the rose and returned his bow with a curtsy of her own. A genuine smile spread easily across her lips as she inhaled the rose's aroma.

"Why, thank you." If she didn't know any better, a smile was tugging at his lips as well.

….

He was going to set Belle free.

Maybe it was selfish on his part—a way of letting the sensitivity get the best of him and this being a way to free himself of it—but it might very well be the only selfless thing he could accomplish in her name.

He never felt this way about any woman, not even when it came to his first wife and Cora. Milah had been an arranged marriage that he decided to make the best of and Cora was nothing but lust. He could not look upon Belle without wondering if she was indeed his true love (no, she couldn't be).

He writhed in his seat as she danced her way to the cupboard and found a vase to put the rose in and squirmed when the shears scraped together and snipped the end of the stem. He listened intently as she told him how she wanted to be brave and see the world, all the while acknowledging what Belle did not say: that he was the reason she could never fulfill her dreams. She was as beautiful as that rose, even if it was her fiancé, and she would surely wilt under his influence. He'd known for a while that Belle deserved better than this imprisonment.

So when Belle inquired about the story of his son, he did not allow his cowardice to talk him out of it. He pressed on without looking back. He had only ever broken one deal in his life. Now, he was prepared to make this one null and void.

"Tell you what…I'll make you a deal. Head into town and fetch me some fresh straw. When you return, I'll share my tale," he proposed. Belle was hopeless to hide her surprise, her blue eyes sparkling with amazement. Gods, he would miss the way her eyes lit up in the sunlight.

"Town? But…you trust me to come back?" She leaned closer over the table and he caught a whiff of her natural scent. He tried to preserve it in his memory. Hopefully, her absence would make these leather pants more tolerable to wear. It also meant he'd have to enchant the brooms to sweep the castle.

"Oh, no," he replied softly. "I expect I'll never see you again."

He thought the unexpected gift of her freedom would have her dashing for her belongings like her dress was on fire, but she remained sitting on the edge of that table. What was she waiting for? Did she want him to hang a going-away banner over the castle's door? Serve up some cake? Did she want gold?

"Does my release have anything to do with your sensitivity problem?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the guilt eating away at him from the inside-out. In a sense, he knew he was only trying to free himself of her, to be rid of such unnerving stimuli. In a way, he also realized he did not want to be free of her, not when she was the closest thing to a companion he had since…far too long.

It would be so lonely here without her and it would be so tedious living with this sensitivity problem. The castle would be darker and gloomier without her light, the silence would be deafening without her cheerful voice. It would be so easy to let her stay, to pass it off as a quip, to ultimately give into this sensitivity, and indulge in all things Belle. The scent of her skin, the velvet feel of it stretching under his palm, the silk of her hair threading through his fingers, the moans he could draw from her lips as well as his own—

No! That was the sensitivity talking!

His defenses were severely weakened and the raw instincts were becoming demanding, so much that his senses controlled his every desire and thought. He had to do this now. He had to let her go before he lost himself completely, before she got hurt for dancing too close to the flames.

"Perhaps," he forced himself to croak. "It would be better for both of us to end our story here."

He was still sitting in that rigid chair when she finally swept out of the room, collecting her green cloak along the way. He did not tell her about the dream he had last night. Not the one where he was stuck in a room of mirrors with Regina's face cackling all around him and taunting him with hundreds of poisoned apples—that was a nightmare. The one where Belle asked him about his feelings for her. He wasn't entirely sure if it was fragments of a dream or if his ears really heard her voice floating to him in the midst of his drunken stupor.

Always a coward, he did not gather up the courage to ask. He was afraid it might have been a cruel trick of his imagination.

…

It was a terribly long journey on foot from the Dark Castle to the nearest town and market. The distance inevitably gave Belle ample time to think about what had passed between her and Rumpelstiltskin as of late.

She knew he did not expect her to return with a basket brimming with fresh straw, he even admitted as much. Still, she had taken the straw basket with her out the door and it was now swinging from the crook of her arm as she descended the vast mountainside.

Belle did not feel right walking away from the Dark Castle and Rumpelstiltskin. Every instinct in her body was warning against it, no matter how many times she dreamed of her golden kingdom. She thought she would be overjoyed to be given the chance to see her castle again, but she felt only solemnity.

And yet, she kept walking on.

The question that tugged at her mind restlessly was this: did she wish to return to the Dark Castle because of a secret vow to help Rumpelstiltskin free himself of his sensitivity? Or was it because of the strengthening connection and the sweet gestures she did not expect from the dark dealmaker? Or was it both?

_Perhaps…it would be better for both of us to end our story here, _he had said after granting her permission to leave indefinitely. She tried to get a sense of whether that was true or not. To leave, walk away, return to her kingdom…she would be with her family once more. It would be a happy ending to her story…wouldn't it?

Belle's pace slowed.

What if she reached her kingdom and they shunned her for what they assumed happened after the monster took her away? Her father might believe her, but no one else would. Then there was the matter of Gaston. If she returned and was welcomed, her father would allow the betrothal to carry on, something Belle had never wanted. _No one decides my fate but me; _she remembered saying that fateful night. But wasn't she surrendering the reins of control if she walked back into that situation? Meanwhile, Rumpelstiltskin would once again be alone in his castle, suffering under the curse of sensitivity and his own misery. She wanted so much to help him, if she only knew how.

_This is not better at all, _Belle realized with a sudden ache in her heart. _The only thing we're doing is running. I've never run from a problem before and I don't intend to start now. _Another curious thought occurred to her then. What if this was some sort of test to see if she would break her deal? Everyone knew Rumpelstiltskin was manipulative in all his deals, but was there a point when the manipulation ever halted, especially when it served his interests? Oh, but he sounded so sincere…

Several times she looked over her shoulder to see if he was following her or coming after her, but he never did. Part of Belle knew that he likely never would, either. Instinctively, she knew he wasn't the type to believe he was strong enough to love another, let alone chase after them to avoid letting them slip through his fingers. A pang of sympathy shot through Belle.

She stopped completely and gazed into the distance, the path stretching far in front of her. If she kept going through these woods, she'd reach the town sure enough…but if she carried on past it and went further still, she would begin the journey to her castle.

This was it—town or home, stay or go. It was her choice alone.

Belle started walking again.

It was a good thing she checked over her shoulder for the tenth time or she might have missed the black carriage coming up the road behind her. It was a formidable shadow cutting through the brightness of the forest, complete with black drapes over the windows, powerful black horses, and black-armored men wearing funny helmets that reminded Belle of starving crows. She graciously stepped aside to let the carriage pass and tilted her head in puzzlement as the carriage slowed to a stop no more than a foot away.

This certainly wasn't Rumpelstiltskin's carriage.

A tingle of apprehension slithered down Belle's spine until the carriage door opened wide to reveal a beautiful woman in fancy garb. She looked to be a few years older than Belle, clad from head to toe in the same intimidating black hues as the carriage. Black boots, black leather pants, black corset cinching her waist…even the curls of her hair were of the darkest ebony that Belle had seen, as though woven from midnight shadows and powdery soot. The only splashes of color were her luminescent skin and the crimson lips that were now stretching into a full, inviting smile.

"Did my carriage splash you?" From the very start, Belle sensed something…off about the woman leaning out of the carriage. Her blue eyes flickered to a puddle of water a few feet away, her hands spreading over the dry sky blue fabric of her dress.

"No, I'm fine," Belle insisted in soft tones. The woman rolled her neck until there was a sharp _crack. _

"I've been riding in that carriage far too long. How about if I stretch my legs and walk with you for a spell?"

The warning bells went off in Belle's head. Her stomach curled as though she drank sour milk. It seemed this…royal? Was she a princess or a queen? Her attire was far too expensive for common folk. Either way, she seemed keen on talking with Belle alone.

Before Belle could object about the walk, the woman in black stepped down from her carriage and gathered up a lacy black parasol, popping it open over her head. She draped her arm around Belle's shoulder like they were old friends, the black umbrella blocking the sunlight from shining over Belle's head.

"You carry very little," the woman in black noted, motioning her chin to Belle's empty basket. It didn't matter whether Belle intended to go to the market or her kingdom—there was very little to carry just the same. All she cared to take was the dress and cloak on her back as well as the golden teardrop necklace around her throat. She had no idea what Rumpelstiltskin did with the golden dress. Much as she loved books, it was impossible to choose one for the road, so Belle did without.

But Belle was hesitant to share her ordeal with this stranger. The woman in black sniffled disappointingly in light of her silence.

"You're running from someone. Question is: master or lover?" Belle chewed the inside of her cheek, unsure how to answer. There was no doubt that Rumpelstiltskin was her master as she was his caretaker, but…lover? A pink blush crept into her cheeks, making the woman snicker. "Oh. Master _and_ lover."

Suddenly, the woman's presence was too overbearing for Belle to endure anymore. Fortunately for this stranger, Belle knew her manners even in annoyance. She gently freed herself from the woman's hold and smiled politely.

"I might take a rest. You go on ahead," she said, gesturing toward the long path in the distance. The woman's lips pursed. Apparently, she was not one to be deterred easily. She latched onto Belle's shoulder again, her nails digging into the cloak's fabric, and directed Belle along with her step-by-step. Belle had no choice but to accompany her.

"So, if I'm right," the woman in black continued talking as if there had been no disruption. "You love your employer, but you're leaving him."

Belle felt her pulse quicken as this stranger put into words so easily what Belle had been trying to work out since the moment she stepped through the Dark Castle's doors mere hours ago. She pictured Rumpelstiltskin in her mind and the arm around her shoulders became less daunting. There was obviously no escaping this woman until she'd had her say, so Belle figured it might help if she at least used it to her advantage and talked to _someone_ about what she was thinking. It was nearly impossible to discuss the matter with Rumpelstiltskin, given its personal implications.

"I think I could love him….but something dark has taken root inside him. Besides the sensitivity," she said. The last bit was meant more for herself than this unsettling stranger. It was hard to ignore the way her neck loomed over Belle's shoulder like some dangerous bird.

"Sensitivity?" The woman's eyebrows lifted, oblivious to Belle's meaning. Then her dark eyes glimmered with recognition. "Oh, I see. In other words, your master and lover…has a deep connection with his inner feelings." The woman's lips quirked in an odd way, as though she were holding back laughter. Belle tried to squirm from her grasp, but her grip was stern as steel. "There's nothing wrong with that, to be sure. Even sheep seek the sanctity of love, I suppose. Before prowling wolves rip them to shreds, that is."

_Which are you? _Belle longed to ask. _Sheep or wolf?_ Belle surreptitiously examined the woman who so casually strolled alongside her on the road. Wolf, definitely. And Rumpelstiltskin was a sheep in wolf's clothing.

"No, you don't understand. It's not that he's…It's complicated, brought on by magical means instead of inheritance," she explained, wondering how much she should reveal. The woman nodded thoughtfully.

"Sounds like a curse to me," she declared. "And all curses can be broken. A kiss born of true love would do it."

Belle felt the information sink into her mind, lighting a spark that quickly burst into wildfire. True love's kiss…was that the answer in helping Rumpelstiltskin? They'd already kissed, but he didn't remember it and it had taken her by surprise before she'd ever truly considered feeling something deeper for her master. But if they both felt this connection….and if she returned to the castle and kissed him a second time…it might work…

"A kiss…true love's kiss…would be enough to cure him of his curse?" Belle was always susceptible to the beauty of hope. It filled her every pore, lightened her heart, made her want to run back to Rumpelstiltskin and help him like she never could before.

The woman finally removed her arm from Belle's shoulder and grinned, her red lips splitting apart to reveal white teeth.

"As I said, my dear…True love's kiss will break any curse." To Belle's knowledge, that was the moment she ultimately decided where she was headed.

…

To knock or not to knock…that was the question.

It was a shabby-looking hovel in the middle of the woods and it took Rumpelstiltskin hours to find. He was pretty sure he went around in circles for most of that time until he asked a couple of maidens in the next town over if they'd seen his little hatter friend. Women were always trustworthy for picking a handsome face out of the crowd. Though, their crying and cowering were almost as bad as the shrieking woman who just gave birth. It took him unnecessary minutes to get them to shush enough for him to ask for directions.

Now Rumpelstiltskin stood outside the door of a miserable hovel, inexplicably having second thoughts. He kept raising and lowering his fist, debating whether to knock. His mind was a blank slate and he couldn't think of a single decent thing to say. After all, he hadn't requested the hatter's help this way in years.

Maybe he could pretend to be selling roses like the old beggar woman and feign surprise to see that Jefferson lived here. That might work. _Hello, dearie, would you care for some fresh, beautiful flowers to please your special lady? Oh, Jefferson, fancy seeing you here! _

No, Jefferson would never believe that. He could sniff out a false story as easily as Rumpelstiltskin himself.

_Knock, don't knock, knock, don't knock, _he thought, doing a funny dance every time he went to knock on the door. He began to pace restlessly, tromping through Jefferson's pathetic garden. Maybe he should ask someone else for help. But who else was there to ask? Belle was gone. Maybe he would knock and Jefferson wouldn't be home. Then he could shrug, walk away, leave a kind note…

Oh, forget it. He was just going to do it and get it over with. This sensitivity wasn't worth the excuse of cowardice. He strode up to the door and pounded his fist on it. Afterwards, he waved his hand in the air, easing the stiffness out of his palm. _Sensitivity Rule #1: Doors are not my friend. Sensitivity Rule #2: Neither are leather pants. _

"Took you long enough," Jefferson said by way of greeting as he thrust open the rickety door. It squeaked and Rumpel clamped his hand over his ear. He jumped back, puzzlement robbing him of words. "Grace told me there was a little green troll sneaking around our garden. I wondered how long it would take you to knock. A little longer than I expected."

Beyond Jefferson's shoulder, Rumpel caught a glimpse of his daughter pretending to pour tea at an imaginative tea party. She met his snakelike eyes and gasped, dropping the kettle. He made a low _humph _in the back of his throat. No one invited _him_ to tea parties.

"I am not a troll! How insulting," he grumbled. Jefferson blocked Rumpelstiltskin's view of Grace. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. The humor—or what little there was of it—had vanished.

He arrogantly raised his chin, his neck unscarred. That would change in time. Ever since having the vision, Rumpel considered warning Jefferson of Regina's betrayal, a grisly act that would leave him stranded in Wonderland and Grace fatherless, but Regina needed the thing she loved most to cast this curse and sweep them away to a land without magic where Bae waited. So he held his tongue and pushed the image of that gruesome neck scar out of his mind.

"Whatever you call yourself is irrelevant. Why are you here?" Rumpel observed Jefferson's pinched and guarded expression with amusement. This wasn't quite the greeting he expected from an old…acquaintance. Furthermore, when was the last time Jefferson took a bath? He smelled like mushrooms.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," Rumpel taunted, grinning impishly. "Or did someone pour vinegar in your morning tea? Sounds like something I would do."

He tried to squeeze past Jefferson to get into the cramped house, but the hatter intercepted every move he made. Left, right, left; if anyone passed by, they would think the Dark One and Jefferson were dancing together.

"You're not getting inside, so stop trying," Jefferson shouted angrily, spreading his arms wide over the door. If Rumpel wanted in, he'd have to go directly under Jefferson's legs. Some hospitality. "Whatever you have to say, you can say it from where you're standing. If you're here to boast about a new pair of leather pants, I'm not interested. Go tie the Queen to a tree and strut in front of _her_."

The mention of their fair queen gave Rumpel an idea. He scanned the ground, but luckily there were no puddles. Jefferson had no mirrors in his hovel, clever boy. Rumpel knew precisely how to earn an invitation inside.

"Rumor has it that Regina is destined to appear if you say her name multiple times in a row. Hmm…shall we give it a try? Summon her up like a genie? Set up some torches, sit in a circle, and hold hands for dear life?" Jefferson's seriousness boiled down into fear. The last thing he wanted was for Regina to find out where he lived. Rumpel resisted the urge to giggle. "Oh, never mind. I'll just go ahead and do it. You talked me into it. Hem-hem…Regina, Regina, Reg—"

Jefferson picked up a handful of straw and shoved it into Rumpel's mouth. Rumpel's eyes boggled and he spewed out the straw. Bending over at the waist, he started to gag and ran his palms over his tongue to rid it of the taste of straw. _Bleh! Bleh! Gods, straw tastes terrible. As a matter of fact, so do my hands. Bleh! _

Was this an assassination attempt?

"You can come in! Just stop yelling that! Ever since I jumped into Oz, I never trusted trees." Jefferson waved Rumpel inside, pushing him in when he moved too slowly. He slammed the door and bolted it. Grace sat frozen on her chair, the tea party forgotten. "Grace, why don't you go and make sure the mushrooms are ready for the market tomorrow?"

Grace's wide eyes switched from Rumpelstiltskin to her father.

"But, papa, we already—"

"Please, Grace. Just go," he urged, never taking his eyes off Rumpelstiltskin. After a beat or two, Grace hopped off her chair and disappeared into the back of the house. Rumpel suspected Jefferson did not want his daughter associated with the Dark One. Jefferson waited a couple of minutes before he spoke again. "You didn't answer my question. Why are you here?"

Rumpel strode to the miniature table that hosted Grace's tea party and dared to help himself to a cup of tea. He had to get rid of the straw flavor on the roof of his mouth. Before he even gulped it down, he spat it out. Jefferson leaped out of the way to avoid the stream. How much sugar did Grace put in this tea? A gallon?

"I have a…little problem," he said vaguely, squeezing his fingers together to demonstrate how little. He dusted off a stool and plopped on it. At least it was more comfortable than the ones in the tavern. Jefferson towered over him, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Well, _I_ certainly wasn't going to be the first one to say it. I'm glad you've come to your senses about the size of your estate," he remarked. Rumpel glanced down _there _and gaped openly at the hatter. "If you're thinking of asking me to fetch you some Wonderland mushrooms so that you can adjust it, fair warning: someone already hired me to do that once. It didn't work."

"Not _that_ problem," Rumpel exclaimed, crossing his legs. Ooh, that didn't feel right. He uncrossed them and tried the other leg. Nope, still not right. He resigned to positioning his body away from Jefferson. "For the record, I have no problem in that department. My problem consists of…oversensitivity."

Jefferson arched an eyebrow.

"You're oversensitive?" Even worse than the smirk, Jefferson began to chuckle. Rumpel narrowed his eyes threateningly. He'd like to see how Jefferson handled this problem, especially with a little girl that likely never piped down until she was fast asleep.

"It's not funny! I can't eat anything without my tongue feeling like it's been dipped in the saltiest of the salty and the sweetest of the sweet. I can't make a single move without these leather pants riding up the wrong way and I refuse to revert to peasantry. I have to pinch my nose because the slightest wrong smell will make me sneeze and blow my brains to bits. And I am inches away from clogging my ears. The torture is never-ending!"

Jefferson held up his palms, signaling Rumpel to calm down. That goofy grin was still plastered on his lips.

"Down, boy. How exactly did you get yourself in this mess? Or is this Regina's latest move on the chessboard?" Rumpel scoffed. Regina only wished she could devise this sort of torture for him. Her form of torture was the same as her mother's—glaring incessantly and thrusting her cleavage in his face.

"It's a bit of an interesting tale. Practically worthy of a campfire story," Rumpel boasted. Inside, he was scrambling about, wondering how to best explain his screw-up of the century. Jefferson tapped his foot on the ground, waiting. _Tap-tap-tap-tap. _"Stop tapping! Do you realize how irritating it is, listening to _tap-tap-tap-tap-tap _drilling into your skull?"

"My apologies," Jefferson said…and tapped his shoe one more time for the hell of it.

Rumpel scowled. The hatter was enjoying his vulnerability way too much. If he didn't need Jefferson's help so much, he'd storm out of here and never look back. Then again, maybe that was exactly what Jefferson wanted. It was manipulation at its finest. It was a con; making a person do something they believed was their idea in the first place.

Well, Jefferson would be sorely disappointed.

"See, my senses were already heightened due to my Dark One status and my maid was…bothering me. She was everywhere and driving me up the wall. So I crafted a potion to dull my senses, but it backfired. Miserably. It made it worse, heightening my senses twice as much as before."

Jefferson's face was turning red from the effort of not laughing. Rumpel aimed his finger at him warningly, which helped Jefferson gather his wits a little quicker. For all the hatter knew, Rumpel could turn him into a stuffed bear and sit him down at Grace's tea party.

Jefferson lowered his body into a chair opposite Rumpel and ran his fingers through his shaggy mane of hair.

"Dare I ask what you put in the potion?"

Rumpel tilted his head inquisitively. He never considered that before. Of course it had something to do with the ingredients. The only problem was: he'd never made a sense-dulling potion before, so he sort of…tossed in anything and everything in his stock of ingredients.

"Let's see…there was squid ink, Munchkin tears, Wonderland mushrooms, a spoonful of sugar to make the potion go down—" Rumpelstiltskin was in the midst of ticking the items off on his fingers when Jefferson abruptly slapped his knee.

"Well, there's your problem right there." Rumpel stared at the hatter uncomprehendingly, his fingers raised and the items left to be spoken now forgotten.

"Sugar?" He vowed never to swallow another spoonful of sugar again. Jefferson shook his head.

"No, the Wonderland mushrooms. You tried dulling your senses, but the potion did the opposite. That's because Wonderland mushrooms do the exact opposite of whatever you want them to do." Rumpel swiveled in Jefferson's direction. His eyes were two slates of molten gold.

"Gee, you didn't think to mention that little de-tail earlier in life? Say, when you were stuffing your pants full of my gold?" Jefferson shrugged.

"I would have…but then I figured it would be amusing if you used the mushrooms to make yourself six feet tall and you turned yourself into a Munchkin." Rumpel sniffed angrily. Turning him into a stuffed bear was too generous. He'd turn him into a rabbit instead. With the head half-torn off and missing one eye.

"I wonder how hilarious you'd find it if I used my tiny body to my advantage, crawled somewhere you wouldn't want me to be and I started biting? Bed-bugs will be the least of your worries." Jefferson began to protest, but Rumpel silenced him. "You asked me what I want. It's not so much as a _want _as it is a _need. _I need a cure."

Jefferson's eyes traveled to the dusty amber-colored hatbox hiding under the poorly-shaped bed in the corner.

"No can do. I hung up my hat after I lost my wife," he said. No one had rejected the Dark One before. It made Rumpel's blood boil to come so close, yet be so far away. Jefferson must have sensed his temper flaring. A Rumpelstiltskin temper tantrum was worse than ten children having tantrums at the same time. "It doesn't mean there isn't a solution. Take True Love's Kiss, for example."

Rumpel stomped his foot on the ground. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning as a reverberation shot up his leg and then groaned simply from chomping on his cheek. He didn't come here for something as ridiculous and untrustworthy as True Love.

"Oh, yes! Why didn't I think of that? Silly me. I'll just arrange a picnic in a field of flowers with my lady love, sweep her off her feet, and plant an enormous sweet kiss on her willing lips. Ka-boom, fireworks, happy ending. Except for the fact that I seemed to have misplaced her. Somewhere in Never-Gonna-Happen-Land."

"Everyone has a true love. Even small, sad imps like you," Jefferson shot back. If his true love was out there, he hadn't met her yet. At least, he didn't think so. It'd be easier if his true love was wearing a makeshift sign on her breast: _Kiss Me, I'm Your True Love._ "What about your maid?"

That startled Rumpel so much that he tumbled off the chair and banged his elbow. He rolled on the floor rubbing it before regaining his composure enough to jump to his feet. It didn't help that Jefferson had water streaming from his eyes and was cackling like a hyena.

"Belle? My true love?" Could it be that easy, truthfully? Belle, a princess and his caretaker, being his one true love? Belle, with her easy smiles, extraordinary wisdom, kind heart, and habit of seeking the good in others even when they believed it wasn't there? "No, it can't be her. Besides, she left my castle today and I have little faith that she'll be returning."

"Can't say I blame her," Jefferson commented. Rumpel used his magic to lift up one of the bears from Grace's tea party and whack the back of Jefferson's head. "Ow! You know, you just attacked me with Grace's good friend Mr. Teddy." Rumpel rolled his eyes. Mr. Teddy—how creative.

"How do you suppose I find my true love? This is no small world, _dearie_."

There were so many variables to consider when it came to finding his true love. The Enchanted Forest was large, though he'd traversed most of it during his centuries of living. There was also the concept of time. What if he wasn't supposed to meet his true love for another handful of years? What if he already did and passed her by?

Jefferson lounged back in his chair, stretching his muscles leisurely and taking the time to examine his nails.

"I suppose I can help you search for your True Love," he said. Rumpel had conducted deals for far too long to miss the unspoken message trailing behind that sentence.

"For a price," he finished the hatter's thought, though he wasn't as enthusiastic as when he said it to his customers. He never enjoyed the irony of people turning his game on him and leaving him with unsettled debts. He hated owing others. "Are we role-playing? Ooh, I'll act out your part. _Sorry, I'm not in the mood for portal-jumping at the moment. I'm too busy sipping tea with my daughter and her stuffed friends. Cheers!" _

Jefferson bolted up from his chair. At first Rumpel thought the hatter was going to throw a punch, but he turned his back instead.

"Fine. I retract my offer. I won't help you. Good luck with your….'little problem'." Rumpel tented his golden-grey fingers under his nose to hide his growing agitation with the hatter's insolence. Jefferson casually started to follow in his daughter's footsteps, the distance between them steadily increasing. Rumpel's only—and possibly last—saving grace was walking away.

"What is it you want?" Jefferson stopped. His back was turned, but Rumpelstiltskin felt the victory radiating off him. It disgusted him worse than the tear-stinging smell of onions and the taste of straw combined.

"Grace's birthday is coming up," he said, turning back around to face his guest of honor. It didn't take an army of dwarves to understand where this was going. The hovel spoke volumes for Jefferson. _This should be an easy matter to settle, _Rumpel thought gleefully.

"And you have no extra money to waste on her birthday gift," Rumpel filled in. "What should I—and by extension, you—get the child? A nice pink dress with satin bows? A diamond necklace? Strawberry-filled biscuits to go along with the tea?"

Jefferson did not give any sign of begging Rumpel for any of those things. Rumpel twitched his fingers nervously. Why was Jefferson grinning like that?

"Wrong. If you want me to help you, you have to bring Grace a gift for her birthday," he corrected.

"Deal," Rumpel agreed. That was simple. He was sure he had a bow and a few arrows lying somewhere around his castle. Women enjoyed archery, didn't they? But Jefferson wagged a finger and made a little _tsk-tsk, _clucking his tongue.

"I wasn't finished. There's more." _That's what I was afraid of, _Rumpel thought, slumping back on his seat. Was this how his customers usually felt whenever he tacked on a price for his services? "You will bring a reasonable gift for Grace…and you will be a guest at Grace's tea party."

Rumpel blinked. He didn't expect that request at all. He observed the round table on the other side of the room, surrounded by chairs that hosted stuffed animals with a kettle and teacups decorating the table. He wasn't sure his rear end would even fit in one of those chairs. _I take it back, _he thought, gulping. _I'd rather not be invited to tea. _

"Here I thought you preferred to keep your daughter a safe distance away from me," he remarked.

"I do. But she'll be under my supervision while you're sipping your tea. I guess I can't resist a chance to bring the Dark One out of his comfort zone," he replied. He swooped forward and held out his hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Rumpel examined Jefferson's hand, then the tea table, then his hand again. If this worked, if he found his true love somehow and some way, if he shared a kiss and lifted this dreadful sensitivity problem from his shoulders…it might be worth an afternoon of tea. He clasped Jefferson's hand.

"Deal."

Jefferson took back his hand and feverishly wiped it on his leather pants. Rumpel wriggled his nose in distaste. Did Jefferson think Rumpelstiltskin had some infectious disease or something? Or was he afraid of having the sensitivity rub off on him? He wasn't the one who had to massage his hand because the hatter squeezed too hard.

"We can start at the market. But first, you'll have to help me find Grace. You have no idea how long it takes me to find her hiding spots."

…

The marketplace was arguably the best place to meet new people excluding royal celebrations and those awkward times you ended up getting taken hostage in the woods.

Marketplaces were to women what seedy taverns were to men—a nesting ground, so to speak. Women tended to do most of the shopping for their families while husbands, fathers, and brothers worked to put bread on the table. They all flocked together in their brightly colored cloaks and dresses, scanning for bargains, and catching up on the latest gossip of the kingdoms.

Rumpelstiltskin rubbed his palms together for a brief moment as he took in the activity of the marketplace. He must have been nervous since his palms were sweaty. He wiped them on his leather pants and earned a rough leather burn in the process.

He had devised several plans on how to find the right woman, but Jefferson shot down Plan A long before he even created Plan B.

"For the last time, Rumpelstiltskin, you are not using my daughter to impress women," Jefferson snapped, steering his daughter toward a stall with handcrafted toys. Grace was too busy eyeing the various rabbits and bears to listen in to their conversation.

Rumpel pouted.

"It's a brilliant plan! Flawless, even! It's not as if I intend to keep her," he pleaded, but Jefferson didn't budge. Oh, why didn't he ask Mary-Ann to owe him a favor? He could have borrowed her for an afternoon and claimed she was his little cutie-pie, then send her back home to her shoemaker of a father.

Rumpelstiltskin took him by the shoulder and led him a few paces away. Not too far from Grace, just enough to warrant a little more privacy.

"What's the harm? Women relish a single man raising his daughter all by his lonesome. It comes off as endearing and sweet. Makes me wonder why you're not interested in the dating scene. Women should be crawling over you like flies on a dead man's corpse by now." Rumpel nudged Jefferson in the ribs with his elbow and winked.

"Charming comparison," Jefferson muttered. He would have glared, but he was constantly checking over Rumpel's shoulder to keep Grace in sight.

"Thank you," Rumpelstiltskin said with a little half-bow. He either missed the sarcasm completely—unlikely, given the imp's dark humor—or he chose to ignore it. Jefferson pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"First of all, Grace doesn't even look like you, thank the gods for that. And before you ask, no, I am not letting you smear mud or dust on her face to give her the appearance of your…reptilian skin, nor am I letting you use magic for that same purpose." Rumpelstiltskin snapped his mouth shut. "Second of all, lies are not the way to begin any relationship with a woman you intend on keeping. You have to be honest and open-minded. You have to allow her to see the blackened parts of your soul, not just the good. Otherwise, all you're doing is hiding behind a colorful mask."

Rumpelstiltskin mockingly studied his sharp nails, waiting for the lecture to end. He tapped his chin considerately.

"Yes, I'm sure most women will be impressed with my record thus far. Let's see…I'm considered dangerous, dark…and while that may be appealing to some women, the rumors claim I cook the children I collect, I have a forked tongue like a snake, and—wait for the kicker—I sneak into castles at night to suck the blood of virgin royals so that I may devour their life source and prolong my miserable existence. Oh, I can hear the chime of the wedding bells now! _Da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da!_"

Jefferson sighed in response to Rumpelstiltskin's skepticism. This was going to be harder than he thought.

"Honestly, what do you think women will do when they see you toting around a little girl? They'll think you've stolen her. If they do believe she's yours, they'll run screaming in the other direction because they'll assume your offspring is evil incarnate. I refuse to put my daughter through that trauma, so no Plan A."

Rumpel kicked his boot against the ground, unleashing a flume of dust into the air. He slapped his hands over his mouth and nose until it was gone—otherwise, he'd risk slipping into a coughing fit.

"Then what do you suppose I do? Stand up on a barrel in front of those women and shout: _who wants me?" _An odd grin slithered over Jefferson's face. Rumpelstiltskin dared the hatter to laugh. Luckily, Jefferson was smart enough to stifle it.

"I've made up my mind," Rumpel stated. "I'm going to stroll in there, I'm going to casually bump into a woman, and with any luck it will be the right conversation starter to earn me a fighting chance and perhaps a drink." He spiffed up his leather attire, ran his fingers through his wiry hair, and felt his eyelids well up with water when he yanked on a particularly messy knot. He looked to Jefferson for approval. "Well? How do I look?"

Jefferson leaned back and tore his eyes from Grace long enough to give the imp a sprawling once-over. He looked to be choosing between several answers, especially when Rumpel made a show of revolving so that he saw him from every possible angle.

"That depends on whether there are women out there who find the Dark One insanely attractive," he responded wryly. Then again, some women in this world had strange taste. "The good thing is that some women also love sensitive men." Rumpel bristled.

"Ha, ha," he remarked humorlessly. That quip didn't even deserve his trade giggle.

The two returned to Grace's side, who had an eye set on a bear in a dress. Jefferson didn't have any extra money to spare, but Rumpel strode forward and pulled some strings with the vendor. The guy owed him a favor and the last thing Rumpel needed was another Mary-Ann, chirping _pleases _left and right. Grace thanked him sweetly, but he waved it off. _There's your birthday gift, Gracie. Congratulations. _

This sensitivity was burning a hole in his reputation.

"Let me be the first to say…good luck in your endeavor, Prince Charming," Jefferson said and proceeded to slap Rumpel on the back three times. He knew it was on purpose. Rumpel ignored the way he nearly choked up a lung and slid away from Jefferson. Far away.

"Need I make this perfectly clear? Touch me again and you will end up in worse shape than the pirate whose hand is still on display in my castle. Understood?" Grace clutched her new bear tightly to her chest and clung to her father's side, never taking her eyes off Rumpel. Jefferson appeared nauseated.

"You have a rotting hand in your castle? And you let your maid touch it?" Rumpel might have found it amusing once that Jefferson's voice shot up several notches when he expressed disbelief. Now it was just whiny and annoying to his ears.

"She wears gloves," he explained it away, shrugging. He waved his hands over his body. "No touching. See all this? Look, don't touch. You'll…disturb my groove." Jefferson's eyebrows rose to the sky.

"I'm sorry. You're _what?"_

"My _groove_," Rumpel repeated, prolonging the sound of the O's. "You know…mojo. Finesse. Aura." Jefferson gave Rumpel another critical once-over, this one making him a little uncomfortable because it lasted so long.

"Groove," Jefferson muttered dubiously. Rumpel gave up trying to coax the hatter to seeing his side of things long ago. It seemed Jefferson was always fighting with Rumpel about one thing or another, whether it was a particular style of clothing or the way his thick accent slurred some of his words.

"It'll catch on."

…..

"How about that one?"

Jefferson pointed to a willowy brunette toting a basket filled with bread and clothes, with a colorful shawl hiding her face. When the sunlight hit the few exposed strands of her hair, red streaks shined through the brown, reminding him of Belle's locks. But when she finally turned her head to scan another stall, he gave a quick shake of the head.

"That one has green eyes," he pointed out. Jefferson let his hand fall limply to his side. He switched his gaze between Rumpel and the young woman who was now strolling away, clearly not comprehending.

"So?"

"So," Rumpel snapped. "I prefer blue eyes."

Jefferson wiped his forehead with his sleeve and scanned the crowd of bobbing heads again. A couple of passing women gave him longing glances, which quickly shifted to fear when they realized he was accompanied by the Dark One. Rumpel had an urge to put a brick wall between him and Jefferson—the hatter wasn't doing him any favors by being a preferable suitor to the ladies. He didn't see the appeal and prayed to the gods he never would, either.

It must be little Gracie. The kid was the lucky charm, surely. _If I had Bae, I probably wouldn't be in this mess, _he thought bitterly. _I would be in a land without magic, with him. _

"Alright…what about…that one?" Jefferson motioned subtly toward a nearby blonde who was sifting through a stall of apples. Rumpel scrunched his nose and waved his hand back and forth to say _so-so. _

"Won't do. She has blonde hair. I prefer my women dark and feisty," he said. Jefferson groaned to the high heavens, coming within inches of tearing out his hair. Grace looked up from her toy to stare bewildered at her papa.

"Are you sure you're not pining for your maid? Because it seems like you're envisioning her in every one of these faces," he said testily.

Rumpel opened his mouth to deny it, but realized Jefferson had a point. It wasn't that Belle's face was swimming in his mind, but he kept finding things wrong with these women. Their eyes weren't the right color, their hair wasn't the proper shade, they smelled funny, they were too tall or too small compared to his stature. He had no interest in any of them.

Jefferson paced restlessly, snapping his fingers. Rumpel seriously contemplated breaking them.

"Maybe…there's a loophole," Jefferson suggested. Rumpel audibly scoffed, begging to differ. He was Rumpelstiltskin, the infamous dealmaker. If there was a loophole, he would have found it by now. "Maybe the terms of the love required to break it is not as restrictive as you think."

Jefferson's desperation and exhaustion were starting to show. Rumpel only snorted decisively. True love was nothing but restrictive; it was either there or it wasn't. It was either true or it wasn't.

Jefferson ignored his nonverbal protests and rattled on, so Rumpel started playing a tune inside his head. Only, the concentration needed for the tune and the disruption of Jefferson's voice became too overwhelming. He reluctantly listened to the hatter.

"Searching for your one true love is like finding a needle in a haystack. A really, _really_ big haystack, considering the fact that you've been alive for centuries. I propose a new tactic: you…I can't believe I'm putting this in your deranged little head…you make a woman fall in love with you instead. It might be enough to break the curse."

Rumpel wished he stuck with the tune in his head. It was much more cheery and promising. He had a terribly sour taste clinging to his gums. This entire scene was beginning to smell rancid to him. It was a foul odor known as hopelessness.

"I'd rather have a woman by my side because fate had its way with her than try to make a woman unnaturally fall for my flaws. Even I have to admit there are plenty of them to go around. For instance, I've learned that not many women fancy a man who…drools in his sleep," he said. If his skin hadn't been an odd greyish-gold pallor, there might have been a pink blush of embarrassment.

"Yeah…_that's_ your biggest flaw," Jefferson mocked.

Rumpel kicked a mound of dust at the hatter's legs, but the wind made it fly up his own nose and he ended up wheezing on the ground for several minutes. Women and men alike continued on their way as if nothing was happening. It was so difficult to find good help these days.

Once Rumpel was done choking up particles of dust, Jefferson raised his chin defiantly.

"What happened to your mojo? Losing faith in it?" Rumpel tossed Jefferson a scathing look. It was the most he could do without tempering with this dreaded sensitivity. Was he questioning the Dark One's seductive potential?

"I'll have you know I am nothing short of confident in my mojo. It's these women! It's not me, it's them! Sometimes, the female population can be so unreasonable. There's just no pleasing them all the time!"

Jefferson smirked. Rumpel looked pointedly down at Grace, but the child was keeping a close eye on her bear. He sensed she didn't want to be here, but was too polite to intrude on their personal matter. Or _his_ personal matter, anyway.

"Look on the bright side," Jefferson advised. Rumpel cocked his head. _What bright side? _"Maybe your maid will surprise you and come crawling back." _Oh, yes, dearie. And pigs will fly and Regina's breasts will deflate and fairies will dominate the world as we know it and force all of us to wear jellyfish skirts. _

It was obvious who Jefferson was voting for to be his true love.

Suddenly, his enthusiasm for window-shopping for his true love dried up. What was the use? The Enchanted Forest was extensive to say the least. More than likely, none of these women were destined to be his. Besides, he had lived for centuries. What if his true love existed centuries ago? What if they never crossed paths? What if she were inadvertently betrothed to someone else? What if she _died?_

Gods…what if it was…Cora?

And Belle…

No, Belle could never be his true love. Not his. She deserved so much better than a beast.

"I'm done searching," he muttered, waving his hand toward the flock of women in the marketplace. What he really meant in the back of his mind was: _I'm done fighting. _This sensitivity was like a marriage to a woman—he was stuck with it, for better or worse, through thick and thin, until death do they part. "Thanks for all your help," he dryly hissed at Jefferson before vanishing in a cloud of smoke.

Somehow, he had been thinking of the gardens outside his castle and ended up in the rosebush instead of inside. It wasn't pleasant plucking thorns out of every part of his body. Hopefully, no one on the mountain heard him scream.

…

Rumpelstiltskin never knew his castle to be so gloomy and cold than when every last fragment of light was swept out of it. Not just the afternoon sun, either. It seemed the entire castle was in a state of gray depression since Belle left with no promise of returning.

The halls appeared longer in length, empty, the walls whispering with memories. The stone was old and decrepit with a new layer of dust already settling over it. The shadows were darker and livelier, writhing along the walls like ambiguous dancers. His bones were filled with ice water, his body slower in moving from step to step. The only scent of Belle that proved she had been there at all was embedded on the pillow where her head once lay. Rumpel compulsively buried his nose in its fabric and inhaled deeply, drowning in Belle. The scent made him woozy in a good way.

He confined himself to the library, only to stare helplessly at the many colored vials on his worktable. There was no solution except for true love. What was the use in hoping when he might never stumble upon his true love?

Forlorn, he let his weary mind wander beyond the tower's windows, trying to imagine his dreary future whilst dealing with this sensitivity. Would he ever adapt to its harsh conditions and restraints? Or would he go madder than ever before? Would his eyes and ears betray him, pushing him to hearing and seeing things beyond reality?

Either way, he took back everything he ever thought about the Dark One Curse being a pain in the arse. It was a heavenly gift compared to this.

He was about to turn away from the window when a flash of color outside caught his eye. An unmistakable glimpse of pale blue amidst the deep greens and browns of the forest and mountainside. He rubbed his eyes, just to make sure this wasn't a trick.

It couldn't be…could it? He squinted his eyes, but the image did not change except to sharpen in clarity. Was this a trick of the light? A product of guilt or a phantom come to haunt him for his misdeeds? Or was she truly winding her way toward his castle?

_Belle…_

Rumpelstiltskin did not spare any time to think—or perhaps he did not want to think this through for fear of destroying that glorious image below his tower window. His mind was bursting at the seams as it was. Whirling around, he ran down the stairs faster than his legs ever carried him, cramps be damned. He'd never known hope for centuries, but this overwhelming feeling must be it.

_Run _wasn't quite the word, come to think of it. On the third step, he tripped and tumbled the rest of the way down. He hit every possible portion of his body—his elbows, his knees, his back, even his nose bumped a stair or two. He lay sprawled at the bottom, dazed and confused with every limb stinging like someone pulled him in several different directions. _Help, _he cried inside his mind. _I've fallen and I can't get up. _

It was by the grace of the gods and the fact that Belle was coming that he even batted an eyelid, let alone pick his bruised body up from the floor.

He reached the dining hall just as he heard the Dark Castle's doors creak open. The sound of carefree humming accompanied a set of soft footsteps in the foyer. Oh, yes, that was Belle. He perched on a stool in front of his spinning wheel, wiggling around for comfort.

Should he reveal his true feelings and act overjoyed and relieved to have her back? Should he express how much he regretted letting her leave and throw himself around her curvy legs? Or should he feign indifference, pretending he did not care the least whether she stayed or not?

It was a tough choice. Honesty never did suit him all that well. Better to feign indifference. He learned from his past loves that too much emotion was a dangerous weapon in a woman's hands.

He heard her climbing the stairs, each footfall echoing in his ears. He heard her coming down the hallway. With every step she took, his heart pounded heavier in his chest until he failed to understand how his chest could accommodate it at all. His fingers fumbled clumsily over the arch of the wheel. By the time she shoved open the doors and glided into the room with a basketful of fresh straw swinging from her arm, he was weak with anxiety and working up a cold sweat.

_Act normal, _he reminded himself. _She's only a woman, is she not? _

No, Regina was only a woman. Cora was only a woman. So were Milah and the Blind Prophet and half the royal females that flowered in castles and kingdoms. They were all just women, their charms ineffective to his desires, if ever they once held him mesmerized. This was Belle; sweet, kind Belle, the epitome of wisdom and goodness of which he'd never seen before, who had unknowingly unraveled him and held the power to break him completely.

_Be calm, be rational, be suave, _he recited. _Indifference, remember? _

"Oh, good, you're back. I'm nearly out of straw," he said, holding up the rapidly decreasing bundle of straw in his hand. The more he thought of Belle, the faster he spun. He despised the comment, even if Belle thought nothing of it. Was that the best he could do? Welcome her back because he was running low on straw? _And I'm running low on sanity, too. _

"Admit it; you're happy I'm back," she teased, drifting close to the spinning wheel. She set the basket of fresh straw by his feet and folded her hands together with pride. He watched her through the barricade of rotating spindles.

Was it just his imagination or did this room seem brighter with her presence?

"I'm not _un_happy," he relented, lifting a shoulder carelessly. The wheel slowed in pace as Belle circled it, joining his side. Taking the bundle of straw from his hand, she set it down at their feet and claimed the stool directly beside him. Her delicate hands smoothed down her bright blue dress, so blue that it made him think it was woven from the sky itself.

The wheel stopped completely. It was impossible to concentrate on spinning and ignore the way she was sitting comfortably a mere foot away. Comfortably being the key word. No woman had ever been truly comfortable around him. Yet here Belle rested, smiling contently as if dining in the hall of a king or a handsome prince than confined in the Dark One's castle.

It was riveting and perplexing to the point where Rumpel had no choice but to address the mystery head-on.

"Why did you come back?" Surely it couldn't be just the promise of a story.

Belle leaned towards him and gingerly placed her hand atop his leather-clad thigh. He couldn't breathe. His heart had ceased beating. His lungs failed to inflate. His stomach had a gigantic hole in its middle. _Her hand is on my thigh, her hand is on my thigh, oh dear gods her hand is on my thigh…_

"I wasn't entirely sure whether I would come back, but something changed my mind," she spoke gently, her eyelashes fluttering like a pair of butterfly wings. She licked her pink lips and the sight of that tongue sent shivers down his spine. "I think I may have found the solution to your sensitivity problem."

He knew what was going to happen next, unless he chose to put a stop to it. Only…he was tired of running from Belle. He did not want this to stop. In fact, he couldn't move a single muscle if his soul depended on it.

Belle continued leaning forward on her stool, her hand sliding along his thigh. He quickly became enveloped in her enticing scent of roses, afternoon sun, and the pages of books. The sinking sun shined upon her hair, making it glow with a variety of rich shades unlike any he'd ever known. He wondered how silky her hair would be if he touched it now. Her neck craned to reveal the fullness of her throat, her lips parting. He admired the way her breasts rose and fell with her every breath.

He knew what was coming. He closed his eyes and let it happen.

That was when Belle kissed him.

….

_**Only a few days until the Season 2 DVD comes out! I know I'll be getting my copy. Anyone else? **_

_**I want to thank all those that have left me a review last time. Shout-outs go to Huntress4455, Lolita Girl55, ZombiesloveMangoes, asalia, Revenessa, thedoctorsgirl42, Spinning Folly, NicoleMuenchSeidel, cheesyteal'c, DragonRose4, RoxyMoron, SwanQueen4055, and Grace5231973. Well, this is the moment of truth. Do you think his problem will be fixed? Or will it take something a little…more? (-; **_


	6. True Love's Kiss

__The moment that Belle's lips met Rumpelstiltskin's, he would swear to being reborn and dying at the exact same time. It was a feeling like no other. Even if every one of his senses were dull as coffin nails, he would still be able to cherish the supreme softness of the petals that blossomed over his mouth, opening to him willingly and completely, fitting perfectly against him like a long-lost piece of a puzzle.

Fireworks, blinding white light, and dazzling patterns of color played behind his eyelids. He was sure that if he looked in a mirror he would see little hearts dancing around his head.

Belle's kiss was extraordinary. So delicate and yet more real than anything he'd experienced in a long time. Centuries, even. Warmth embraced his entire body, wrapping around his chest like a pair of powerful white wings, filling every tendon and pore. Meanwhile, the air had been sucked out of his lungs, so rapidly that he fought the urge to press a hand to his scaly chest to check if his grisly black heart was still beating. He might have, if his heart hadn't jumped into his throat.

There was only one word for this sensation: magical. True was another one. Blissful, refreshing, perfect.

A change was coming swiftly over him, though not a terrible one by any means. His mind had never felt so at ease, not since the night he willingly claimed Zoso's dark curse for his own. Why, he was convinced the darkness was dripping off him in the form of ebony rainwater.

His feet tapped against the floor, his heart sang a jolly tune, his fingers danced on his knees and flared when they brushed Belle's. He felt good. He felt unchained.

He felt…free.

The next thing he knew, he was lying flat on his back and staring uncomprehendingly at the high-vaulted ceiling, which was now spinning in several different directions at once. Black spots fizzled in front of his eyes and his brain was the equivalent of hot porridge. He tilted his head to the left to see if any brain matter would fall out of his ear. Nope, dry as sand.

"Rumpel? Rumpelstiltskin, are you alright? Please, say something," a lush voice drifted into his ear. At this point, he would have charged into blazing flames to reach that voice.

From the dizzying colors above loomed pink flesh and blue cloth. Belle. She was kneeling by his side, her hand over his heart. He would be disappointed if a handprint wasn't fused into his skin after this, a marking of Belle's tender touch. If anyone else had done that, he would have feared that his heart was at risk of being ripped out of his chest. However, Belle already claimed it long before.

"Did we…do it?" He rubbed his forehead and tried to remember how he got on the floor. It hadn't been anything intimate, he was certain. How could they have done it and him having no recollection of it afterwards? That was a bit unfair. Plus, if anything deeper than a kiss happened, why was he still alive to tell the tale? There should be chunks of Rumpelstiltskin raining over the Enchanted Forest from exploding in the aftermath of such intimacy. Was he dead? Was this the afterlife? If he was dead, why was Belle here? Oh, gods, did he kill her, too? He'd never rid himself of the guilt.

A pink blush heated the apples of Belle's cheeks. If anything, it made her infinitely more beautiful than ever before.

"You fainted," she explained bluntly, her voice cracking in all her fluster. Rumpel scowled. Fainted? That was it? He hadn't kissed a woman in years and his first reaction was to faint? Belle removed her hand from his chest and there was an icy current flowing through his skin from the loss. "Is your sensitivity showing any improvement?"

He paused, not even daring to take a breath as he concentrated most deeply on his bodily changes and five intricate senses. His tongue roved over his lips and teeth, but he still tasted the essence of Belle as though it were a succulent wine. Everything was in critical detail, not a single shred of his environment hidden from view or blurred. He inhaled generously through his nose, only to become smothered by a variety of conflicting scents including the salty sweat collecting on his temples. The rhythm of Belle's calm breathing fell upon his ears; all it took was an ounce of strain and he devoured the melody that was her heartbeat. It was much faster in pace than usual. The stone beneath his legs was rough and icy, bits of fallen straw digging under his fingernails.

Well, that was a bit of a letdown.

"Not that I'm aware of," he answered flatly, shrugging. That meant that true love's kiss did not occur, that Belle was not his true love. Right?

The excitement flickering in those crystal blue gems faded into disappointment. Had she been hoping for something else? Some bright, beautiful miracle of everlasting love and a happy ending? It was one thing he was certain he would never be able to give Belle.

"Oh. I only ask because…when I kissed you, there was a change in you. Your curse must have been lifting. You began to turn into an ordinary man. If you and I are true loves, if we try it again, it might work—"

Rumpel stopped listening after _ordinary man_, even if his mind filtered through every word against his will. Panic seized him, a terrible tightness constricting his lungs. Only, this lack of air was not the comforting sensation brought on by Belle's enticing kiss. This was a notch above sticking his head in a tub of cold water, opening his mouth to let the water gush in, and drowning. It was suffocating…he couldn't breathe…

"Rumpel…?" Belle reached out tentatively to caress his grey-gold hand, but he viciously whipped it away and scurried to his feet. Disturbing thoughts rampaged inside his head, pinging off the walls of his skull, creating such a racket that he covered his ears to try to make it stop.

An ordinary man. He had begun to transform into an ordinary man. The Dark Curse that consumed him for centuries might have withered and died, leaving him vulnerable, weak, human. Cowardly. He would age again and time would no longer be endless for him. Oh, gods, what if the centuries caught up with him all at once and he dropped dead in this spot, a pile of blackened bones? Everything he strived for, every hope of finding Bae dashed.

No.

It couldn't be true.

Ignoring the concern gleaming in Belle's watery eyes, he spun toward the covered mirror and, in less than three strides, cast the heavy drape away from its reflective surface. He breathed a shaky sigh of relief. His skin possessed its lizard quality, the scaly patches shining with hints of gold, green, and grey. His hair was matted and wiry, his eyes unsettling golden orbs capable of peering into a person's soul, if one believed the rumors in the markets. He wasn't an old limping peasant in leather pants, nor was he a pile of ash.

He never thought he would be proud to be his eccentric, impish self.

On the heels of it came bemusement and then anger. Did this mean Belle was his true love, after all? That his curse had started to lift? Or was this some twisted ploy to render him powerless, a mighty show of heroism in slaying the beast?

"Are you trying to kill me?" He spat at Belle's heavenly reflection in the mirror. If she was nervous or afraid, she hid it well. Too well, perhaps. Or was he being paranoid? When one lived for centuries as the formidable Dark One, there was rarely such a thing as paranoia.

"No, I was only trying to help you," she insisted, flitting a tad bit closer. The narrowing of his eyes stalled her movement. "When you sent me away, I met a woman on the road. She suggested that true love's kiss might be the answer. She…"

She.

Belle didn't need to voice a name, if she knew it at all. He instantly knew the person Belle mentioned. There was only one person in this world desperate and manipulative enough to take advantage of Belle's innocence and benevolence in order to spite him.

"Did she have an affinity for the color black? Guards with funny-looking hats? In-your-face cleavage?" The recognition in Belle's eyes gave the answer away long before any verbal response could. Even so, she inclined her head affirmatively.

"Yes. I take it you've met her?" Met her? Hah! He had to put up with her petty whining and cheap flirtations for months while he taught her magic only to have her try to stab him in the back with it. Talk about lack of gratitude. With every step toward power Regina took, she transformed into the likeness of her mother. That wasn't a compliment.

Every muscle in his shoulders and back stiffened, rigid as the stone walls that structured his home. His fingers gripped the edges of the mirror until splinters sliced his skin. His amber eyes flickered ever so slightly from Belle's reflection. He no longer had any interest in speaking to his maid.

"You," he hissed into the glass, his breath fogging the shiny surface. He knew she was watching from the safety of her castle, reveling in his madness and temporary weakness. How would she ever forgive herself for missing it? "You turned her against me! You think you can make me weak? Hate to disappoint you, _dearie_, but you'll never be stronger than me!"

In the mirror, Belle's reflection shifted uncomfortably, her hands weaving together over her laced bodice. For the first time in months, she was studying him skeptically, as though prepared to call his sanity into question.

"Who…who are you talking to?"

He straightened his spine sharply, despising the doubt riddling her tone. Had he finally opened her youthful eyes to the miserable beast by which she was imprisoned? The anger and darkness were running too wildly in his veins to control; he was practically walking through a red haze.

"The Queen! Your friend, the Queen," he exclaimed shrilly.

A tickle jumped into his throat and he bent at the waist, heaving and coughing while water invaded his eyes. Belle's face contorted with pity and confusion, the word _Queen _hovering on the lips that kissed him only a few moments prior. She played the innocent card well. She shook her head arguably, but he would not let her slip away that easily.

"Are you truly that innocent?" He stalked toward her, a vulture descending on its prey, but she kept her chin raised high and did not retreat. "Or were you intending to destroy me? A Siren's kiss can be deadly to men foolish enough to take it, I hear. Was this your way of slaying the fearsome beast?"

By now, he had crossed the room to her and stood only inches out of reach. Dismay tainted Belle's pristine features even further and she rushed forward to make him understand. Or did she plan to strangle him with those lily-white hands?

"Please, listen to me! I only wanted to help you! What we have is true love, I can feel it. Can't you?"

He dipped his head and ran his fingers through the tangles of his hair, tugging at the wiry strands in utmost frustration. Both halves of his brain were currently waging war. One half contained his lingering doubts about Belle's intentions while the other half sparked to life at the mention of true love. It was enough to drive him permanently mad.

"Shut up," he growled, mostly to the conflicting arguments in his head. It hurt when he yanked harder on his hair, but the discomfort offered a distraction from the mess in his mind. _True love. Belle may be my true love. But her kiss did not work…it might have if I didn't faint…it might have…_

"Don't you see? This means it's true love! Your curse was breaking," Belle carried on, more urgently since she mistook his growls for being directed solely at her. _How can it be true love…if her kiss will make you lose everything? Don't listen, _a silky voice of distrust whispered in his ear. The other half disagreed. _Face it, it's true love. You know what to do. Sweep the girl off her feet and kiss her until it hurts. You know you want to. _

He was inches from clawing his eyes out. He could not handle these rivaling emotions.

"Shut the hell up!" He shouted on the top of his lungs to his jumbled brain that laced poison between him and Belle. Listening to that darker side was the cause of centuries of loneliness and self-defeat. He had enough of it.

Belle's head reared back in astonishment and her bottom lip trembled. To make matters worse, she laid a hand over his, immediately soaking his skin in fire. _Stop touching me, _he shrieked inside his head. _I don't know what I might do. There's nothing more torturous…nothing more tempting…_

"Why won't you listen to me?" Belle pleaded with all her heart, but it was too late. His patience snapped. Why couldn't she understand the truth in front of her cute, little nose? His hands clamped down on her shoulders, his thumbs brushing over the milky flesh as he pulled her into his embrace.

"Because no one will ever, ever love me," he yelled into her face.

His nails dug into her shoulders until she whimpered, a sweet sound to his ears. Panting hard, he considered escorting her from the room, but Belle countered before he had the chance. She stared at him with intense sympathy and longing, her breath tickling his lips as softly as a spring breeze.

"You're wrong," she said gently yet firmly. "I can."

The words _I do _hung unspoken in the air. It broke him into pieces, shattered his anger completely and knocked him off his heels. He thought he might be on the verge of fainting again. No woman had ever offered her love to him so freely. He had no idea what to make of it.

Rumpel's hands slid down along Belle's arms, savoring the feel of her in his grasp. He released her abruptly and returned to the mirror, pressing his forehead to the cool glass. If ever there was a night he wished to drink himself into a clumsy stupor, it was this one. He drew in a gasp of fresh air as he heard Belle step up behind him. Her fingertips stroked his back soothingly, effectively taming the beast.

"Please," she whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out her wavering reflection over his tense shoulder. If he turned around right now, if he took her into his arms, there would be no turning back. It was a price he could not afford, even for the sensitivity.

It was with gritted jowls and great reluctance that he forced his heart to retreat into a solid, stone chamber.

"Go," he demanded. Belle did not walk away, nor was she quick with a reply. He felt her hand resting on his back, unmoving. Was she wondering if she heard him wrong?

"Go where?" He shook his head furiously.

"The gardens, the dungeons, the library…Go to the moon if that's what your heart desires. So long as you're not in the same room as me," he replied crisply. One more minute in a room alone with Belle would be enough to kill him. Or at least kill his sense of logic.

He counted his breaths as he waited for Belle to leave—there were ten of them before her footfalls carried her out the door. The smell of her natural fragrance faded, leaving the odor of must and dust in its wake. Rumpel pried open his eyelids and drank in his gruesome reflection. _What the hell are you pouting about? _Without thinking, he launched his fist into the mirror, transforming it into a complex web of broken glass.

He yelped as crimson blood flooded over his knuckles. The pain was so great, it had him squirming about and waving his hand in the air like he was saying hello to someone invisible.

"Holy mother of Bae, that stings," he screeched and set about picking the shards of glass from his skin. _Note to self: use something other than hand to break the next mirror. _

…..

Regina couldn't resist watching through her mirror as the beauty kissed her poor, suffering beast and ultimately killed him with the passion of true love. How ironic; the magical essence that often restored life would only bring death for Rumpelstiltskin. She cackled aloud as he toppled backwards off his chair. If she wasn't wearing such a revealing dress, she'd do a backflip through the halls of her castle.

It worked! He was dead! The deceitful, giggling entity known as the Dark One had been vanquished from the Enchanted Forest at last and she, Queen Regina, the most powerful being in all the realms, would be labeled a hero for her efforts. It made her want to jump into the air and shout to the world—

"What the hell?"

Her joy evaporated like a puddle of water rising into steam in the desert. Rumpelstiltskin was still alive. He was on the floor, writhing about, lifting his head as his precious maid knelt to lend him aid. No! No, no, no! He was supposed to be _dead! _

Why did she never get her way in this world? She stomped her foot and pouted her lip.

Her expression twisted into a livid snarl, the mirror shaking beneath her iron grip. She gave that useless girl one task: to give Rumpelstiltskin true love's kiss—while Regina gagged, of course—and unintentionally make his heart give out from overexertion and excitement. Was that too much to ask? _I should have let my horse sit on her in that road, s_he thought bitterly. _I would have left Rumpelstiltskin a note and a map about where to find her body. Maybe then he would die of heartache. _

She bit her tongue until it bled, all the while observing Rumpelstiltskin dashing to the mirror to admire his reflection. It was hideous in her opinion. Those teeth, that body, that _hair! _His charm must come from those leather pants.

Things became interesting once more when Rumpel turned his fury on his maid, roaring at the top of his lungs. Perhaps it was a spot on her mirror, but Regina swore there were tears in the girl's eyes when she walked out of that room.

Maybe Regina would send her a homemade apple pie. Something to lighten her mood.

Rumpel glared at her through the mirror one last time. Sneering, he drove his fist into the glass, disrupting her view of the inside of his castle. The mirror flickered and then a golden message scrolled across the glass. _Connection lost. Please try again later. _

So much for destroying the Dark One and having people kiss her boots in gratitude. It seemed Rumpelstiltskin was not one to die easily. _He's rather old, isn't he? He's lived for centuries, much to the displeasure of this realm. That means I should have plenty of chances to try again, _she thought glumly. She hated waiting, but there was nothing to be done. _Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Plan Z of Operation: Begone, Snow White. I wonder if that little green witch from Oz would mind if I borrowed her flying monkeys. _

….

Belle did not go to the gardens; the sight of a single rose would inevitably mock her about Rumpelstiltskin. She did not go to the library; it was a sanctuary for both of them and she felt her mind was too worked up to read. She also didn't go to the moon; that was impossible to accomplish.

So she went to the dungeons, the farthest place from Rumpel that she could think of without leaving the grounds of the castle. It was dim and chilly, but she did not care at the moment. She slumped down into a corner and buried her face into the crook of her elbow, trying and failing to forget the taste of his lips.

She did not understand how something that felt so right, something as pure and beautiful as true love's kiss, could be so devastatingly wrong.

…..

Rumpel mulled over the dispute with Belle for a long while. It was constantly on his mind since the moment she walked away, digging under his skin almost as ruthlessly as his mission of finding Bae. Was he that affected by Belle's presence that he actually felt….guilty? Had he overreacted? It was only a kiss, not a poison-soaked dagger.

The anxiety and remorse tugged him in two different directions. Did she even realize what she had almost done? Most likely not. If her kiss worked, if his Dark One curse broke, it meant losing his path to Bae forever. On the other hand, it made him shudder to think of losing Belle's company or reverting to a gloomy, lonely existence where the curtains were nailed over the windows.

Somehow, he needed to fix this. He needed to make amends with Belle.

Without realizing it, his feet had carried him down the narrow stairs into the dungeons and directly to Belle's cell. For a long time, he stood at that door and debated on entering. _Stop being a coward, _he ridiculed himself. _Get in there and face Belle like a man. Are you the master of this castle or not? _

He puffed out his chest and stormed into the cell before he could reconsider. His immediate thought was that he should have baked a fancy cake and written _Sorry, Belle _with fresh strawberries. Women enjoyed the pleasure of sweets when they were upset, didn't they?

Belle was curled in the farthest corner of the cell, head tilted against the wall, though she was in no way asleep. She had confined herself to staring miserably at the opposite wall, lost in her solemn thoughts. When he entered, she was shaken out of her reverie and blinked up at him expectantly.

Belle's patience was a wonder to behold. She did not prod or deliver snippy remarks. She did not fidget restlessly or act as though she did not care. She merely waited quietly for his first move.

Rumpel did not speak for a heavy moment. He strode into the cell and loomed above her, but he averted his gaze from her questioning blue eyes. A few times the words played on his tongue before slipping away through his fingers.

_Hello, Belle. How are you faring? No, too cheery. She'll think I'm deliberately mocking her. How about….Belle, you remember that ugly scene upstairs? What am I thinking? Of course she remembers! She's not a rattle-brained amnesiac! Unless, by chance, she rolled down the stairs and hit her head on her way down here. _

It was useless. Rumpelstiltskin, master of deals and wordplay, had no idea what to say. Belle looked uncertainly at the hands folded in her lap. In the end, it was up to her to break the silence.

"What are you going to do with me?"

The words were strained, even if they were not spoken in fear. Rumpel knew why. Belle was struggling with the very real possibility that, contrary to her brave claim the night she became his, her fate was no longer up to her to decide. How long had she contemplated his intentions? What sort of conclusions did she come to?

In all honesty, his fate was in her hands and not the other way around. It had been that way since the night he drank that sensitivity potion, maybe even before that night. She was his undoing yet also his salvation.

He sighed deeply and spread his arms widely at his sides. Belle eyed them dubiously. He lowered them once he realized the gesture made him look like he was requesting a hug. If he were in Belle's place, he wouldn't be in the hugging mood, either.

"You wanted a story. Is that still true?" Belle's shoulders squared against the wall and she appeared to bloom with sudden intrigue. He had never known Belle to reject a story; he seriously doubted she would choose this night to break the cycle. She nodded. "Then I have one to give. I must warn you: it's a long one."

"I have time," she replied without missing a beat. There was no question that Belle would not be going anywhere far, unless he threw her out of his castle.

If he said he did not want her anymore, it would be a lie. Besides, casting her out would be a mistake for both of them. Surely Belle would seek out her father's castle, but what if he made assumptions about Belle's virtue and Rumpel's cruelty? What if he disowned her, shamed by the beast's ownership of his daughter, labeled her the beast's whore instead? Or what if Belle never even made it to the kingdom at all? It was a great distance between the Dark Castle and Belle's kingdom and the roads were known to be dangerous, even fatal for young maidens. Meanwhile, Rumpel would sink into the depths of despair, become a darker creature than he ever was before.

Clearly, it was a lose-lose situation.

He scanned the cramped cell for a place to sit, but there was hardly any room to breathe. He settled for leaning against the wall with Belle looking up at him, eyes wide as a child's.

"I'm not sure if you've grasped this, but I am over three centuries old," he started hesitantly. He paused to absorb Belle's reaction. It was attentive, but not surprised. Most people would say something like _damn, you're old _or run away screaming words like _vampire _and _evil _by now. He cleared his throat and continued. "Those three hundred years have been spent on one goal only: finding my son."

At this, Belle gave a slight gasp. So it was the personal, sad parts that struck her fancy. She was definitely the hugging type.

"Your son is still alive," she reworded his admission. He nodded weakly, picturing Bae's face in his mind.

Time had done what Rumpel assumed would be impossible: he could no longer draw up the image of Bae with perfect clarity. The softness of Bae's curls, the exact shade of his eyes whenever they lit up with joy, the dimple in one of his cheeks when he smiled, the feel of his small hand when it clasped his papa's…The memories were foggy at best.

"Yes. My son is alive. I did not lie when I told you I lost him," he said, choosing his words carefully. He swallowed the lump that caught in his throat, preparing to unfold the most difficult portions of the story. He had never told anyone this before. "He was the reason I claimed this dark power. The king's men intended to take my boy and put him on the battlefield in the first Ogre War. He was a child; he would have died. He was all I had in the world. I could not let him go, so I became the next Dark One and I stopped the Ogre War."

Belle marveled over Rumpel's words, no doubt viewing them in the sense of a heroic tale. He supposed he could have stopped there, skipped over the blackened parts, kept it short, sugary, and sweet. Let Belle believe he was a good man who'd been wronged in the past. But in his heart of hearts, he would never forgive himself for that cowardice. He had to tell her everything. Everything.

She must have noticed how difficult it was for him to release the words, for she bit tenderly on her lip.

"If you don't want to tell me, I understand—" He shook his head.

"No. I've already begun the story. I might as well finish it," he declared.

Belle settled back against the wall and waited. He found that, after returning to the days where he still had Bae, it was impossible to shut that gate again. The details flowed ever faster, begging to be released. He did not fight.

"I swore to use that power for good purposes, but something dark took root inside me. I changed, even if I was last to see it. I took advantage of that power, I hurt others for my own gain, I relied on magic like a drunkard to the drink until I could no longer imagine a world without it. My son tried to stop me, tried to find a way to break my curse. He planned to lead me to a world without magic, where he and I could live happily. At the last minute, I panicked and…I chose my power over my son. I let him fall into a portal that led to another world, where he would be doomed to grow up fatherless. The only way I can find him is if I create a curse that will take me to that land. If my dark curse breaks, any hope of finding my son will be forever lost."

When he was finished, he remained rooted in place, eyes downcast, his soul bared as he anticipated Belle taking a hammer to it. The way he saw it, she had every right. Her breath was delicate as the beating of wings.

"Oh, Rumpel…I'm so sorry. I didn't realize…I nearly ruined your chance of finding your son. I never meant-" He held up a hand to stop her. He did not come here to listen to her apologies. After all, she was the most selfless person he had the fortune to meet.

He opened his eyes to see a tear glittering on her rosy cheek. His fingers curled into his palm, itching to wipe it away.

"I know what you meant, Belle. I do not blame you. Regina knew precisely what she was doing when she planted the notion of true love's kiss in your head. She's the one seeking my ruin, not you. I wanted to say I…I'm…I'm sorry," he choked out the words. He couldn't remember the last time he sincerely apologized for his actions. It felt good, right.

As a gesture of truce, Rumpel extended his hand to Belle. Her sky-blue skirts whispered as she rose from the floor. When her hand slipped into his, it was warm and reassuring. Impulsively, he brought it to his lips and kissed it, then blushed. Belle laughed musically, not perturbed in the least.

To his amazement, she walked into his arms and embraced him tightly. His hand fell to the small of her back and his head sunk to her shoulder. The raw emotions and regret he bottled up these past few centuries poured out, a river of despair. Tears soaked the cloth of Belle's sleeve before he even realized he was crying. Her considerate nature of cradling him with consoling promises only made the sobs come harder, the muscles in his back rippling and throbbing with every shuddering breath.

"There, there. Let it out. It's not healthy to bottle your grief," she advised softly into the shell of his ear. Her fingers stroked his hair, coaxing him to relax. Rumpel sniffled into her neck.

"Bae…my boy…and this sensitivity…it's so frustrating…I'll never complain about the grumpiness of pregnant women again," he wept. "And these leather pants hurt in all the wrong places!"

He felt Belle's neck grow hot as his skin rubbed against hers. He didn't need to glance up to know she was blushing.

"There, there…" Belle repeated stiffly. She drew back to peer up at his sorrowful face. "If true love's kiss puts you at such great risk, then we simply won't kiss. If it's any consolation, I preferred it the second time around."

She winked while he froze like a statue. The second time around? As in…?

"Are you telling me…we already kissed once?" He grew flustered, hurrying to remember the time and place. It was all a blank. Oh, dear, had he been sleepwalking? Milah once told him he could spin in his sleep, but he didn't think she was being literal. Belle laughed.

"Well, you might not recall it. You were drunk at the time," she said.

The light swarmed his mind. The night he came home after downing one too many drinks in an effort to escape the sensitivity. If they kissed then, it must not have had an effect on his curse. Perhaps it was because he was drunk or their feelings for each other were not yet fully realized. Either way, he began to panic. Had it been sloppy? Unwanted? What else did he do?

"Though….I have to admit, the bit with your tongue was…interesting," Belle hinted, splaying her hands over his silk shirt. His eyes flew open wide and he was all too aware of the weight of his tongue inside his mouth. He inhaled generous breaths in order to calm his rapidly beating heart. "Do you realize your skin glows more golden when you blush, Mr. 'Stiltskin?"

He rubbed a hand across his jaw, as though he could feel the change in texture and color. Feelings of desire coiled through his belly. No other woman had ever unraveled him this much. Belle had the power to bring him to his knees and he would not refuse her if it came to that.

"You'll be the death of me," he murmured, daring to wrap his arm around her small waist in an effort to bring her closer. She stared up at him fondly and brushed her hand over his cheek.

"I hope not."

…

Sleep eluded Rumpelstiltskin that night, not that alertness was out of the ordinary for him lately. For the past hour, he attuned his ears to the blessed sound of Belle snoozing just down the hall. Unanswered questions and doubts circled his mind. Finally, his thirst for answers grew too demanding to ignore any longer.

In the span of thirty seconds, he was knocking on Jefferson's door. He didn't care if it was the midnight hour. The hatter had some explaining to do.

"Okay, okay. I heard you the first seventy times," a sleepy voice groaned as the hovel's door burst inward. In the doorway stumbled Jefferson, half-awake with his hair sticking up worse than usual and rubbing his eyes. It took him a full minute to register the identity of his visitor, which brought on another groan. "I might be wasting my breath telling you this, but it happens to be the middle of the night and normal people are used to sleeping at this hour. If Grace wakes up, you'll be responsible for putting her back to sleep. Story-telling and lullabies included."

Rumpel waved it off impatiently and invaded the hovel before Jefferson became too suspicious about the purpose of his arrival. It was easier to do since Jefferson was on the brink of nodding off and drooling. No straw being stuffed into his mouth this time.

"Define normal," Rumpel scoffed. He peeked into the corner of the house that hosted Grace's bed, the area separated by a flimsy curtain. The girl was snoring quite loudly. And apparently she had a habit of talking in her sleep. Something about bloodhounds and mushrooms. What was Jefferson feeding her? Rumpel's nose would grow several feet if he claimed it didn't unnerve him. "I don't think little Gracie will be an issue. Worse comes to worst, why not give her some of those magical mushrooms and tell her to pull an all-nighter? She'll be asleep before you can say _nighty-night." _

Jefferson frowned with disapproval. Rumpel didn't know what the hatter was so negative about—it seemed like an effective strategy to him. As a matter of fact, Rumpel entertained the fantasy of selling those mushrooms door-to-door throughout the realm. It would work wonders on rebellious children at bedtime. Perhaps he and Jefferson could make it a team effort, create their own business. _Rumpel (and Jefferson's) Mushroom Miracle!_

Of course, as what tended to happen with Jefferson, his late-night fantasy was rudely popped against Jefferson's skepticism.

"Some people in this world prefer not to rely on magic for every small aspect of life," he retorted with contempt. Rumpel figured Jefferson was jealous that the only magic he produced was through a worn old hat. _Those who can't do magic…sell mushrooms at the market, _he thought cynically.

Rumpel made a sweeping gesture to the hovel in which they stood.

"Look where that attitude got you," he remarked.

Fire flashed in Jefferson's dark eyes and Rumpel was almost convinced he'd be getting the boot. Not that the rejection would prevent him from getting what he wanted. He would climb on the roof and stomp around noisily, he would sing tunes outside Jefferson's window, he would play monster through Jefferson's garden, preying on all the children-carrots and fairy-turnips. There would be no getting rid of him. Jefferson was intelligent enough to understand this.

"What do you want this time? Are you handing me an invitation to your wedding? Shall I fetch my best hat?" Rumpel huffed unhappily. Well, that wasn't a very nice welcome. But since Jefferson was so eager to get to the heart of the matter, he decided not to disappoint.

"You said that true love's kiss would be enough to break this sensitivity curse," he said, getting close enough to Jefferson to poke him in the chest. Jefferson swatted Rumpel's intrusive finger away. "Surprise, surprise: it didn't work! For your sake, you better have a Plan B."

Jefferson's eyes shot open in alarm. They were bigger than that ridiculous expression Jefferson wore the first time he met Regina and proceeded to gawk over her cleavage. And that was before her days of leaving little to the imagination.

"You actually found your true love? Who is it? Anyone I know?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Rumpel brushed invisible dust off his cloak and avoided his gaze. He shuffled his feet over the straw-covered ground.

"You never met her," he mumbled. Hopefully, he never would, either. He didn't need Jefferson presenting a much more appealing offer to Belle. Despite his stubborn vagueness, Jefferson grinned knowingly.

"It's Belle, isn't it?" If not for the odd pallor of his skin, Rumpel's face would be as red as a fresh tomato. If Belle was right and his skin became more golden when he blushed, he should be easy to spot from miles away by now. A shining gold statue.

He licked his lips at the mention of Belle's name. Even if he was on his deathbed, he would never forget the taste of her kiss. The increasing silence made Jefferson's smile stretch wider.

"Belle who?" It came out as a squeak, entirely unconvincing. Jefferson gloated with a fist-pump for being right. It made Rumpel want to gag. _Great. Now he'll never let me live this moment down. Soon he'll be singing about me and Belle kissing in a tree. What sort of idiot couple shares a kiss in a tree anyway? _"Point is: she kissed me and it didn't work."

Rumpel flounced onto a chair and left the problem in Jefferson's hands. The hatter paced back and forth, his knuckles kneading his forehead in agitation. He muttered nonsensical things under his breath. Grace shouted _found you _from the other end of the hovel, making Rumpel jump a foot in the air. When he craned his neck, he glimpsed Grace slumbering in her bed.

What was wrong with that child?

"She does that," Jefferson stated all too calmly without pausing in his pacing.

"I hardly noticed," Rumpel quipped. He scooted his chair further away while keeping Grace in sight through a sliver in the hanging curtain. There was no telling what that girl might do next. Would she have a tea party in her sleep, too? Mistake Rumpel for one of her stuffed friends and cram a biscuit in his mouth?

Finally Jefferson quit moving about and stared gravely at Rumpel.

"If Belle is really your true love, her kiss should have worked. The only reason I can think of…The sensitivity is a big problem. In that case, it must need an equally big solution to break it."

Rumpel blinked.

"Like…?" He waved his hands around, urging Jefferson to spit it out. Jefferson winced with regret—not a good sign.

"True love's kiss made you vulnerable to the sensitivity, but it wasn't enough to free you from it. It might lessen even more if you kiss her again, but I have a theory. You need to sacrifice more than a kiss." Jefferson allowed the words to sink in. Rumpel had a cold feeling about where this was headed. If true love's kiss wasn't enough…if it required something stronger…

Jefferson nodded in light of Rumpel's understanding.

"If I'm right, you'll need to sacrifice yourself wholly to the sensitivity before you can successfully overcome it. Something more powerful and more stimulating than Belle's kiss. If you ask me, it means you'll have to make love to your true love."

Rumpel fainted again.

…..

_**The idea for Rumpel ultimately making love to Belle to free himself from the sensitivity curse is mainly inspired by SakuraBlossom58. I was playing around with that idea when I started writing this story, but your comment about it pretty much sealed the deal for me. Whether I change the rating or not remains to be seen, though. **_

_**Shout-out time! I want to thank Huntress4455, DragonRose4, Guest, thedoctorsgirl42, Yakibaru, Just 2 Dream of You, zenobia2, cheesyteal'c, Grace5231973, cbear229, MyraValhallah, Leona, asalia, Drac1026, Spinning Folly, Guest45, juju0268, ZombiesloveMangoes, RoxyMoron, and swanQueen4055 for their fabulous reviews! **_


	7. The Long Road Home

For the last three centuries, Rumpelstiltskin had relied on magical transport to travel between his castle and any place he desired in the Enchanted Forest. Jefferson's hovel was hidden in a patch of forest miles away from the Dark Castle, but he chose to walk the distance. It would give him time to sort out the tangled thoughts in his mind and it would give him an excuse not to face Belle for hours yet.

How was he supposed to explain to Belle that he needed to make love to her in order for his sensitivity curse to break? It was a theory that Jefferson devised in the dead of the night, but what if it was true? He couldn't even kiss her on the lips without fainting. A climax of those emotional proportions would hurtle him straight into a coma deeper than a sleeping curse.

Walking alone on the road, he took it as the perfect opportunity to recite what to say to Belle.

"Belle, this may be qualified as moving a little too fast in our relationship, but you and I should consider...as man and woman, we...we need to do it sometime...um...Belle, how would you feel if you and I took our love to the next stage? There'll be fine dining, candlelight, a bed covered with rose petals...and I can't do this. Stupid, stupid, stupid, dearie!"

He angrily knocked his knuckles over his forehead. If a carriage raced down that road right then, he would be flattened due to being submersed in his dilemma. There was nothing he could say that would make this situation acceptable. He did not want to manipulate Belle for his own purposes.

No, he absolutely refused to force Belle to comply with this far-fetched last resort. Even if suffered because of the sensitivity, he would never defile Belle the way everyone in her kingdom assumed he had the night she agreed to come with him. She was too good, too special for such harsh treatment on his behalf.

He made an oath there on that desolate road to win her trust and consent before ever jumping to that sort of scenario. If it took several months or several years for Belle to feel ready for that level of intimacy, he would devote that length of time to her. He would earn his salvation, not bring her to her knees by command.

It was the least he could do for her. Give her that choice of fate.

He planned to do this the right way. The power of his fate would lie at her feet and he would pray that she was merciful.

A creaking sound worked up behind him, making him cock his head to listen. The creaking was interrupted every couple of seconds by drumming. No, not drumming. The beating of hooves. Rumpel leaped into a bush alongside the road before the carriage and scent of manure whirred past him.

"Hell-_oo_! I'm walking here," he snarled, climbing out of the bush and picking leaves from his hair and vest. Then he snapped his fingers and turned the carriage into a pumpkin.

…

He had no idea how long he walked. Being the middle of the night, everything was pitch black and it didn't help that most forests in the Enchanted Forest generally looked the same. Trees, trees, trees, rocks, road, more trees. Rumpelstiltskin must have collapsed under a tree for a nap sometime during his journey, since the next thing he felt was a finger poking his shoulder.

One of his eyelids fluttered open tiredly, but the blast of sunlight convinced him to shut it tight again. He groaned and rolled over on his stomach, burying his head in his arms. His skin was swollen and blotchy from being scratched raw by his nails because of itchy blades of dry grass, biting bugs, and the occasional stray hair from his head. Before this curse, he never knew he shed so much in a single day.

There was another poke, this one digging in harder than the last.

"Go away. I'm hibernating," he muttered, swatting his hand toward the creature that was determined to stir him from sleep. Just another hour of fitful snoozing...and then he would carry on his way to his castle and Belle.

The creature was still there. The air had grown cold as its shadow stretched over Rumpel and he heard every breath that fell over his back. There was a snap of a joint or a twig as the creature stood, followed by the crunch of leaves as it moved to his legs, moved further away.

Oh, wonderful, it was leaving. Good riddance.

He snuggled deeper into the crook of his leather-clad elbow, snorting as he breathed in its old scent. Peace and quiet, except for the birds that wouldn't shut their beaks. Who in their right mind deemed for birds to be so chatty in the morning? What did they even have to talk about amongst their feathered friends? Which tree they flew into today?

The footsteps returned. His eyes bolted open, though he did not turn over to face the stranger. The pace was slower, the steps heavier against the ground. Every once in a while, there was a grunt. Anxious creases marred his forehead as he focused on a new sound entirely: the trickle of water.

Without warning, a thick sheet of ice-cold water poured over his head, matting his wiry hair to his scalp and drenching his clothes inside and out until he was soaked to the bone. Faster than he imagined he was capable of moving, he leapt to his feet, swiveling his head back and forth like a wet dog shedding the water from its fur. He spat fluid from his mouth and wiped moisture from his stinging eyes.

Someone was either hopelessly drunk off his arse or asking for a death wish. Waking up the Dark One with a pail of water—cold or not—was worse than hugging a bear. It was a one-way ticket to an unmarked grave six feet under.

"Where are you, you insidious leech? You wanted my attention; now you've got it. Come out and face me like a man," he roared, swinging blindly through thin air. Was his opponent a deadly assassin, apt to disappear in the blink of an eye? Or was it all a trick of his imagination? On the contrary, a single ounce of cold water didn't just fall and splash someone in the face.

Something tugged on the hem of his cloak.

"Down here," a delicate voice chirped below his waist. He blinked the rest of the water away and the infuriation drained with it. Why, the only creatures shorter than him were fairies, dwarves, gnomes, and...

Ah.

A familiar face.

"_You?"_ Rumpel lost his balance, surprised as he was by the identity of the person who rudely woke him from uneasy slumber. Mary-Ann. He pointed incredulously at her, his brain puzzling over whether it was a mirage, even going as far as to nudge her belly to make sure she was undeniably real. The touch made her giggle. "Of all the fields I chose to cat-nap, it had to be yours."

So this was where Mary-Ann lived. Whenever someone summoned him by name, he didn't always have the leisure of viewing the entire route to their humble abode or the exact location he was taken to in the Enchanted Forest. All he had to go on were visual clues in the environment.

This place wasn't far from the Dark Castle. To think she lived nearly at the crux of his mountain and he never knew. He took a long moment to examine her from top to bottom. It had only been a few days since last he met her, but somehow she looked more mature than she did then. Today her sandy hair was held back by a worn black ribbon and she was dressed prettily in a simple sky-blue dress only a shade lighter than Belle's. A white pinafore cinched her waist and covered the skirt of the dress.

"I was chasing a rabbit. It ran somewhere over here and I found you sleeping under the tree. I wanted to say hello," she said sweetly. Leaning in closer, she cupped a hand around her mouth, as though ready to share a special secret. "I didn't brag to anyone about your last visit."

Wasn't that miraculous? A child that listened to her elders.

"Didn't your papa sit you down and tell you it's rude to wake a man with a pail of cold water?" It was obvious from the blank expression that Mary-Ann was internally questioning whether his inquiry was rhetorical or not. Kids these days took everything so seriously. In the end, she shook her head negatively.

"No," the single syllable came out quietly. Self-conscious in the manner of most young children, Mary-Ann seemed to expect him to chastise her for being wrong.

"He should," Rumpel retorted. He would do it himself, but what good would it do now?

He shielded his eyes against the sun and estimated it to be midday already. There would be at least two hours of scaling the mountain or else transport magically. Rumpel hesitated to summon his magic. It put such strain on his sanity lately and he thought he may be getting dizzier and loopier because of the purple fumes. Purple Rain, he dubbed it. Inhale enough of that smoke and you wouldn't recognize yourself from Adam in the mirror.

"Are you here…because of me?" Fear had crept its way into Mary-Ann's voice, rendering it timid. Rumpel pivoted around to face her, noting how tense the muscles of her arms and legs were. If he made any sudden movements, she'd bolt.

"That's the problem with the children of this generation. You think everything's about you. Prepare to be disappointed, dearie! It's not," he snapped. Mary-Ann apparently sensed the turmoil writhing underneath his cold words. The sun made her eyes shine bright blue, reflecting only pity. He made a thoughtful _hmm_ in the back of his throat. "Not that it's any of your concern, little girl, but I am heading back to my home to attend to urgent business. There so happens to be a special woman waiting there for me."

Only after he lilted about his plans did he find the irony in the term _business. _Being a child, the double meaning sailed over Mary-Ann's head.

"What's her name?"

It was a childish musing, born purely out of curiosity for all things personal, but Rumpel was reluctant to submit. If there was anything he learned in his 300 years, it was that names naturally held power. Names contained the essence of an individual. Occasionally, through malicious hurt, heroic feat, or tremendous generosity, that name could be remembered by praise or infamy for all time. Out of habit, he bit down on his tongue to keep all his vicious, dark secrets from slipping out.

And yet, Mary-Ann unearthed a part of Rumpel he assumed had perished ages ago. It must be some enchantment or charm…but it was one that could never be deflected. It was the allure of a child's innocence, shearing into his many complex layers of darkness as swiftly as a fin cutting through water. It was increasingly more difficult to ignore the attentive tilt to her head, the probing gleam in her eyes, the bounce of her steps while she awaited his answer.

The urge to confide in someone like Mary-Ann—someone who was not quick to judge based on his unholy title—was tempting. So tempting, that he found the battle was already lost.

"Belle," he spoke slowly. "Her name is Belle." A dimple indented Mary-Ann's cheek.

"That's a very pretty name," she commented politely. He began to smile and then faltered, thinking of the complicated condition of Jefferson's theory. It was only a theory. Theories could be disproved, right? Mary-Ann bowed her head. He recognized it as shame. "Did I say something wrong? You look sad."

Rumpel half-turned to succumb to the shifting shadows of the forest beyond, all the while hiding the fretful pinch of his mouth and the sorrow masking his face.

"You didn't say anything wrong. It's a lovely name," he assured her.

Having her feel guilty wouldn't bode well for Rumpel, especially since he was so in touch with his emotions. Even now, he felt the ice around his heart chip away, the longing to unload the burden on his shoulders ultimately deciding his next move. It wouldn't be appropriate to ask for Belle's advice on the matter…yet. What would he say besides the truth? _I have this friend—you don't know him. He's cursed and needs to make love to his true love in order to break it. How shall he go about doing that? _

Very subtle.

"You see, I am suffering within the shackles of a terrible curse and she is the only one that can break it. But to do that, she and I must...do something extraordinary to achieve it," he struggled to explain. Mary-Ann's face screwed up the way it would if there was a bitter aftertaste coating her gums. Rumpel knew the feeling.

"Like a kiss?" Awe radiated off her in powerful waves, a parade of silly romantic notions traipsing through her pretty little head. Was this how Belle was when she was a young girl? Smitten with handsome princes, drifting on daydreams, and swooning over happy endings?

Rumpel coughed, aiming to squash his embarrassment.

"Uh…no, not a kiss." How was he supposed to discuss this casually with a child? Did her papa even have "The Talk" with her about the birds and the bees? Rumpel had a funny inkling that no parent would ever be inclined to let the Dark One educate their children in that particular lesson of life. "Well…it's rather simple, really…and a bit sticky as well…When a man loves a woman…and a woman loves a man…They sometimes prove their love in the ultimate stage of romance. But I'm afraid I can't reach that stage with Belle yet. It would not be right."

Mary-Ann knelt on a patch of grass, the hem of her blue skirt pooling around her legs. She looked comfortable, which baffled Rumpel into speechlessness. Why, she even dug a strawberry tart out of her pocket and chewed on it. Kindly, she broke off a piece and offered it to him, but he declined with a rapid shake of the head.

"You should marry her," she suggested bluntly.

Now he was thankful not to have accepted the strawberry tart because he would be choking on it. The direct statement caught him off-guard, so much that he completely lost his footing and stumbled backward on his rear end. A tiny bubble of laughter spurted from Mary-Ann's throat. He didn't see what was so funny about an older man falling clumsily like a cripple.

"Wha…wha…? Ma-marry her?" He sputtered, unable to comprehend the fantasy of Belle donning a flowing white gown, transforming into a blushing bride, and willingly taking him as her husband. "Oh, no, no, no. I can't possibly do that. It's out of the question. Inconceivable!"

The knit to Mary-Ann's brows claimed that she didn't know what 'inconceivable' meant. Or perhaps it was because her childish perceptions of love did not match those harsh realities Rumpel set before her feet.

"Why? Does she love you?"

Rumpel frowned, his suspicions confirmed. It was so easy in Mary-Ann's mind. If two people loved each other without unconditional familial relations, then those two people married and lived happily ever after. The beast always transformed into a handsome, kind prince and the maiden was lifted on a pedestal to glory. There were no hidden fees or loose strings about monstrosity, cowardice, famine, illness, child-bearing, or war.

The girl needed a wake-up call. Rumpel just didn't want to be the one to give it. He scratched his chin thoughtfully, humoring her guidelines of love. He also needed to shave.

"I think so," he mumbled. No, that wasn't good enough. A stroke of confidence rose in his chest from only-the-gods-knew where. It was a shred of confidence he wasn't aware he possessed, but he let it have its say nonetheless. "I'd bet my castle on it."

From her spot on the grass, Mary-Ann perked up in excitement.

"You have a castle?" From her exhilarated tone, he may as well have promised to buy her a horse for her birthday. Hell, a horse _and_ a carriage. All little girls dreamed of horses, didn't they? He was clueless, since he never had a daughter. "How big is it? Can you see the ocean? Is it close-by? Do you ever have fancy balls or weddings?"

Rumpel crouched in front of her and snapped his fingers in front of her face. She gasped and crawled back on her elbows, her wild eyes scanning her body for any changes. What did she think he would do? Turn her into a frog princess? She appeared relieved that she wasn't too big or too small.

"Focus, Mary-Ann," he berated. He'd prefer to revert to this gushy talk of love than to have Mary-Ann get in her head to trail him back to his castle and be named an unofficial guest as a result. Her fear vanished, shifting abruptly into irritation. Her cheeks flushed pink.

"My name's not Mary-Ann," she protested in a surprisingly defiant voice. If this girl had been born royal or married into nobility, she would work wonders in royal court. "It's—"

Rumpel impatiently waved his hand to shoo her into silence. Even if knowing someone's name inevitably gave him power over them, he never liked taking that control over children. It did not sit right with him since the night Bae fell into that portal. Guess he had a soft spot.

"Don't care. Focus," he repeated, posing his fingers to snap again. He drew back, offering the girl some space. Mary-Ann—or whatever her name really was—pulled herself into a sitting position, stretching her legs out on the grass to catch the sunlight. It took her a moment or two of quiet pondering to return to her undeterred interest in Rumpel's problem. Maybe she wanted to be certain he wouldn't change his mind and turn her into a snail.

"Do _you_ love _her_?"

Rumpel froze, a golden-grey statue with fashionable taste in leather. Just when he assumed Mary-Ann had finished asking the most personal of questions, she unleashed the mother of them. His throat tightened, his nails pierced his skin, and his brain sizzled with the heat of one of Regina's fireballs.

Flashes of Belle—falling into his arms, accepting the rose, comforting him over the loss of Bae—spun through his mind; a tornado of bittersweet memories. His heart thudded heavier with each one that skimmed the surface. The mere whisper of Belle's name in his head sent him tumbling on a crashing wave of emotions. Longing, sadness, amazement…and…

"Yes. Yes, I do. I love her," Rumpel admitted, more for his own benefit than Mary-Ann's.

It was strange to attach the binding implications of love to Belle, but it was strange in a good way. The kind that made butterflies chase each other inside his belly. This was the first time he said it aloud, the first time he truly realized it. Mary-Ann shrugged, as if she had known it all along and was only waiting for Rumpel to catch up.

"Then marry her," she concluded. What was he waiting for? That was the unspoken question slithering outwards from Mary-Ann's sentiment.

If only it were that simple. Mary-Ann did not fully understand how the world worked. If he couldn't be a worthy husband to Milah or a desirable lover to Cora, how was he supposed to be an adequate one for Belle? Or did true love offer him a worry-free pass?

"She'll never agree to marry me," he said, scraping his boot along the dirt so it created a trench. There was an underside to this greasy coin: he was afraid that if he proposed to Belle, she would whole-heartedly agree to confine herself forevermore in his castle as his lovely wife, in which he would eventually fail to satisfy her or otherwise shame her in his husbandly duties.

Mary-Ann playfully rolled her eyes to the cloudy sky.

"How do you know?"

No one ever asked him that question before. In his days as an ordinary, lame peasant, whenever he did something cowardly the people of his village were only too happy to brand him thusly. They never bothered to wonder what he was so afraid of or if there was a chance he could improve on his mistakes. He never considered the fear of knowing the outcome to hinder his courage so greatly.

"Well…I…obviously…"

He didn't know. That was it. The fear of jumping into thin air and not feeling solid ground when he landed. He never had visions depicting Belle or any life he had with her. Besides, was Mary-Ann blind? There was a very justifiable reason perched in front of her button-nose.

"Look at me," he squawked, slapping his palms over his chest. "I am the Dark One, not Prince Charming in royal robes astride a noble steed! Women faint at my feet for the wrong reasons, children fear the Green Boogeyman snatching them from their beds in the night for not completing their chores, and even nature's beauty withers in my shadow. I look in the mirror and I see…she deserves so much better."

Mary-Ann's gaze swept over his impish form from head to toe.

"I've seen worse," she remarked. He wondered what kind of monsters she encountered that were worse than him. From experience, he knew that even the king's men were capable of being wolves in shining armor, feasting on the sheep that huddled in pitiable villages. This little girl before him rocked forward to pat his hand consolingly. "It's okay to be afraid sometimes. That's what my papa says when I have nightmares. Just don't let it take away your hope. Ask her. You never know until you try."

She wiggled her eyebrows encouragingly. It reminded him of Jefferson's eccentricity. Rumpel briefly mused over the idea of Mary-Ann making a good friend to Grace.

"We'll see," Rumpel sighed in defeat. He turned to leave the fields and Mary-Ann's fine company, planning to return to his castle. There was still plenty of thinking left to do, thanks to Mary-Ann's input. Though, he had a feeling he would regret walking the last half of this journey due to the sweat dripping from every pore and the soreness of his feet.

A hot bath sounded marvelous.

"Mr…'Stiltskin?" He hung his head in misery. Mary-Ann wouldn't let him go that easily. When he glanced over his shoulder, she was standing on her feet and sporting a cunning grin. "Does Belle like the book?"

The book? Oh, yes, the book he collected from Mary-Ann in return for saving her precious kitten from the tree. Had the recipient of the gift become that obvious? He smirked.

"She can hardly put it down," he replied briskly.

Mary-Ann appeared pleased that her book was being put to good use. Had it been any other child in the world, there would be endless pouting and protesting about the way he jilted them out of an item belonging to their name. Curiosity peaked, he turned back toward Mary-Ann with a question peppering his tongue.

"Tell me, Little-Miss-Whoever-You-Are, what is it that you truly want? What is your heart's desire?"

Mary-Ann's blue eyes darkened with dreaminess, her fantasies unfurling in her mind.

"Well, if I had to have anything in the world, I would prefer…a world of my own," she hesitantly stated. He inclined his head in astonishment. He never heard that one before. "I dreamed about it once. The colors were so vibrant, everything tasted so sweet, nothing made sense but it had logic all the same. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. A world where cats and rabbits would reside in little houses and all the flowers would talk to me for hours. My world would be a wonderland."

Behind them, the old cottage's door cracked open and a man's graying head poked out. Anything Mary-Ann had to say about her own little world was sadly disrupted.

"Alice?" Her father called into the sunshine, beckoning her home. The girl dashed a few steps toward the cottage, just enough for her father to see her and know she was safe.

"Coming, papa!" She fretted over how to explain the Dark One's presence before her poor papa suffered a fainting spell. When little Alice spun back around to say goodbye to her unexpected acquaintance, he was nowhere to be seen. Her blue eyes caught sight of something on the ground, something that wasn't there before.

There, in the spot where she had seen Rumpelstiltskin last, was a curious rabbit hole.

…

By the time Rumpel reached the front doors of his castle, he was miserable. Miserable was an understatement for how he was feeling inside and out. His feet were aching and had more than one blister, his boots had water at the bottom of them despite the many times he took them off to dry them with magic, and every limb was so stiff that his body might have been controlled by a puppeteer. However, nothing throbbed worse than his mind. It ran out of fuel an hour back.

It soothed his woes to see Belle curled in a chair with a book in her lap. She leapt to her feet to greet him with a soft kiss to the cheek. He shivered with pleasure.

"You're back," she exclaimed joyously. She helped him out of his damp cloak and hung it by the fireplace to dry. Honestly, the only way to undo Mary-Ann's Fountain of Ice was to roast himself like a turkey. "Did you find the answer you were looking for?"

Hardly.

Rumpel numbly plopped into an armchair close to the fire to warm up. Belle graciously poured him a cup of tea and retrieved her own cup from the stool next to her chair. He vaguely remembered thanking her for the drink, sipping it gingerly, the stream of warmth chasing away the weakness and chill permeating his lean body.

"In a way…though I'll need to test it out," he said, avoiding her blue eyes. He stared hard into the pit of the roaring fire until his irises burned.

"Do you need my help?"

Rumpel choked on the mouthful of tea tunneling down his throat. The teacup crashed to the floor, bursting into dozens of white shards while Rumpel gasped for air. Belle had no choice but to whack him on the back. He latched onto her arm, using her for support until he managed to inflate his lungs with fresh air.

"Thank you," he rasped.

Belle steadied him in his chair and then settled in her own seat across from him, determined to give him the space he needed when sorting out his troubling thoughts. He noticed how cozy she looked with her legs tucked under her lush bottom and her arms cradling her head. By the look of it, she was home. _If you only ask, sweetheart, I will gladly make this your home, _he vowed silently.

"Technically, it would be impossible to do what I need to do without you." Belle's eyebrows arched in pleasant surprise. He reclined against the back of the chair, realizing he had to tell Belle everything now. Deep breath in, deep breath out. "Belle, an acquaintance of mine had a theory about breaking this curse. I need to…make love to my one true love. Only by sacrificing my entire being to the sensitivity—namely, in a fiery fit of passion—can I escape its grasp."

Even after all his thinking on that lonely road, he still did not know whether escape meant being free of the sensitivity or something worse. Something like permanent slumber.

Belle was quiet for a long time. The glow of the dancing flames brightened her beautiful face, but he was helpless to read it. It was a book inscribed in a foreign language until the point where Belle decided to translate for his understanding. Was she recounting his words, dreading any intimate union with him? Or was she contemplating where to sign the contract?

Fortunately, when her head finally turned his way again, there was a tiny uplift to her lips. That book was not penned with fear.

"Me," she filled in the blank, a small hand tracing the contours of her throat.

He nodded once. Belle was his one true love, the one with which he needed to come together. The chair moaned as she transferred her weight on its seat, leaning forward instead of away. Her breasts pressed against the tight fabric of her bodice, rising and falling calmly. Rumpel hurried to remember all his promises he would recite to her—how he would give her the time she needed, he wouldn't take what he wanted like a cruel beast, he would devote his affections to her for as long as it took. But Belle always had a way of surprising him.

"Well?" He blinked over the tent of his fingers.

"Well what?"

"You have your solution," Belle pointed out. His hands dropped into his lap, his jaw following. Nonsensical noises fell from his mouth. Was Belle suggesting…what he thought she was suggesting? Did she think he would force her on her back? That her say in this matter was worthless?

"You think I plan to defile you? Do you believe me to be such a monster?"

Belle rose from her chair in a graceful swoop and he instinctively copied her movements, afraid she was going to leave that question unanswered. It would drive him mad if she did. He blocked her path, coming face-to-face with her, but Belle did not attempt to break through his defenses. It occurred to him that Belle was not the one trying to escape her demons.

Her hands clasped his shoulders, anchoring him down to the floor.

"No, of course not. I told you before: you are _not_ a monster," she reassured. A cold feeling passed through his belly even though the fire was a foot away. It was either nervousness or hunger. Or a combination of the two. But Belle's hands were so tender over his shoulders, his neck, his jaw. "You silly man. I'm not talking about you defiling me. You have more honor than you give yourself credit for. I'm talking about you making love to me. You and I are true loves. And…I want to do it."

Part of him suspected Belle was carrying out another selfless act, that she was only agreeing to this to free him from his sensitivity. Being the heroine of her story. Sacrificing her pleasure for his sanity. If that were the case, he'd be haunted by even greater guilt. Composure crumbling, he let his hand thread its way into the silky waves of her hair, supporting her head.

"Belle…you can't want this from someone like me," he whispered mournfully.

Belle's impulsive nature flared and she cast him a condescending look. He should have known better than to try to change her mind. No one told Belle what choice to make, not even him. Especially not him. It was one of the reasons he was constantly drawn to her: that seductive spirited will was something he'd only ever dreamed of exhibiting himself.

"Do not presume to tell me what I want or do not want, Rumpelstiltskin," she warned, thrusting a finger in his face. He stared down his nose at it, eyes crossing in their sockets.

Just to prove the extent of her stubbornness, she entwined her arms leisurely around his neck, urging his head down to her. For a moment Rumpel panicked, thinking that Belle intended to kiss him, but she stopped when their lips were inches apart. He'd be lying if he claimed he didn't desire her kiss, anyway. Then again, his pants already felt like they were on fire, due to his proximity to the crackling flames.

"I know you want this as much as I do. I can see the way it affects you when I touch you in the slightest," Belle continued. She placed her hand on his cheek to prove her point. He closed his eyes and tilted his head into her palm. "Please." The word was a kiss in its own right, falling blissfully over his parted lips.

He could have stayed in Belle's arms for the rest of the night, the rest of eternity if time was kind enough. As it were, he rivaled the darker half of his personality screaming to take all Belle offered. Instead, he wriggled out of her embrace. Hurt transpired over her face, only a moment before the book slammed closed. It hurt him twice as much; this had nothing to do with anything she'd done.

"I can't impugn your honor, Belle. I would never be able to forgive myself the crime of treating you in such a worthless manner," he said. It would not be fair to her, no matter how much she insisted she was happy. Belle planted her hands on her supple hips. Just for a second, he imagined they were his hands, feeling those hips ripple and move under his touch. He paced back and forth to ease the tightness in his abdomen.

"In other words, you're condemning yourself to a life of suffering?" The way she studied him with concern and sympathy tore fresh wounds into his heart. He wagged a finger reprovingly and clucked his tongue.

"I didn't say that." He glanced at the stone ground, dust bunnies hugging the legs of the chairs and tucked between the countless cracks. It wasn't as inviting as a feathery-soft bed or even the dry field where Mary-Ann—um, Alice's—cottage rested. "This is going to hurt. Just know I'm doing it solely for you."

Gradually, he lowered his body on one knee. His leather pants pulled in all the wrong places, forcing him to grit his teeth to bear the discomfort. Still, he refused to openly complain about his awkward position. He planned to do this right by Belle. For once, she had been stunned into silence by his actions. With a wave of his hand, a tiny object materialized. It was a sapphire stone set into a well-crafted silver band, a ring made for someone special. The firelight made the stone gleam almost as beautifully as Belle's eyes.

"It's been centuries since I've conformed to this type of sentimentality last, so bear with me. I wish to preserve your honor, not take advantage of it greedily for my own peace of mind. I shall devote my time and energy to you, to shower you with the affection you desire and deserve, and respect you to the best of my ability." He twirled the ring between his fingers and licked the apprehension from his lips. He wanted this dearly and he could tell by the appreciation in her eyes that she did as well. Gently, he took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. "Belle, would you do me the honor…of becoming my wife? Will you marry me?"

She looked from the hand that held hers to the sparkling ring to his anxious face. Pearly teeth softly chewed on her bottom lip as she mulled over it. He would have loved to give her hours to consider it from every angle, but his growing discomfort bordered on agony.

"I don't mean to rush you, sweetheart, but hopefully you'll give me an answer before I become a eunuch," he hinted, wincing as he switched to the other knee. If he was rendered a eunuch from this rigid position, he would surely fail as a husband. He had yet to meet a married eunuch.

Belle squeezed his hand and encouraged him to stand. Was that a good sign or a bad one?

"Yes," she answered, nodding fervently.

Happiness overwhelmed him to the point where his lips ached from grinning so widely. She allowed him to slip the ring on her finger and she laid a kiss at the corner of his mouth, as close to a real kiss as she could manage without breaking his Dark One curse. He pressed his forehead to hers, sensing he didn't even need to ask whether she was sure about her decision. The promise of forever echoed from those crystal blue orbs.

"Yes, I will marry you, Rumpelstiltskin."

…

_***cue marriage theme* Some of you that left reviews for me last chapter were hoping this would happen and I agreed with it. **_

_**On another fun note, Alice's answer about "her own little world" comes from the song "A World of My Own" from Disney's **_**Alice in Wonderland **_**as well as one of Lewis Carroll's quotes from the original tale: "If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't." **_

_**The time has come for shout-outs: I want to thank Huntress4455, Leona, Guest, Revenessa, SakuraBlossom58, Rumple's Slave, Stonington, AngelofDarkness1605, Just 2 Dream of You, MyraValhallah, asalia, Drac1026, cheesyteal'c, Grace5231973, Spinning Folly, Guest45, and SwanQueen4055 for their awesome reviews. **_


	8. Tale as Old as Time

Rumpelstiltskin was late for a very important date. He had no problem being fashionably late, but the time for that had passed a while ago. The realization made his skin clammy and his stomach knotted and more than once he debated backing out. But how could he when he promised to attend?

No doubt he'd never hear the end of it if he failed to show his face.

It wasn't his fault he couldn't decide on what to wear. An armless man would have an easier time dressing than an oversensitive one. Getting the shirt on your body when armless was the frustratingly tricky part, but at least he didn't have to continue suffering with it afterward. Every piece of clothing on Rumpel's body felt unnaturally coarse, the threads strung taut over his bare skin, rubbing the wrong way.

Rumpelstiltskin rotated in front of his mirror, examining his body from every angle. He stretched his limbs wildly to test the comfort of the fabric. He would have enjoyed this more if Regina was watching, but spying on him while he was modeling this way gave her chills and the severest of stomach flus.

_Nope, too many ruffles. I feel like an oversized bird, _he thought in disgust, stripping off the black shirt with the ruffled collar. How did birds put up with that amount of plumage? He snapped his fingers, replacing the discarded shirt for his treasured, golden silk.

It was noticeably soothing and smooth, practically woven with cool water. Still, Rumpel stuck out his tongue at his reflection. _Too extravagant. I'll be a king dining in the company of a peasant, _he declined. A stab of guilt swept through his chest, restricting it tightly. She really didn't deserve that remark, especially when he experienced the peasant life first-hand.

Another snap of the fingers and the golden silk stiffened into his deep crimson dragon-hide vest. It was bold, it was menacing, it was seductive and powerful…and it would most likely frighten her to death. Who in their right mind wanted to witness such ferocity at teatime?

_This will be the last one, _he swore. _Whatever outfit I dress in shall have to do. I'm late enough as it is. _Didn't want to keep the girl waiting.

One more snap and the dragon-hide was whisked away, brightening into luxurious white cotton. The sleeves hung loose over his arms, barely grazing his skin. The opening at his throat descended halfway across his chest, revealing the golden-gray tinted skin underneath. He shivered as the drafty air in his castle blew across the new exposure.

Gods, he resembled one of the feisty men painted on the cover of one of Belle's romance books. All he needed was an invisible breeze blowing the hair from his face and holding Belle's willing, curvy form in his arms. There was even a faint scent of muskiness clinging to the fabric.

But it would have to do.

The next time he snapped his fingers, a purple cloud of smoke enveloped his feet, snaking around his legs and waist, climbing ever higher. He didn't want to resort to magic for transport, but there was _no way _he was stomping around the Enchanted Forest in broad daylight dressed like this. Women would assume he was advertising himself as a bachelor, of which he was not.

_Sorry, ladies, _he thought, snickering to himself. _This imp is taken. _

The smoke seeped over his face, the tendrils circling his neck like a pair of lover's arms, curling upward through his nostrils. Growing heady from the incense, he began to think funny thoughts. _Purple…everything purple…I love purple…wonder how Belle looks in purple? Whoa, traveling too fast…where's the stop button on this thing? _

Thankfully, the ride only lasted all of three minutes. The purple fog—or Purple Rain, as he preferred—spat him out on the rough ground. He rolled onto his back to stare up at the blue sky above, trying to collect his thoughts. Slowly but surely his brain floated down from the clouds and planted itself snugly in his skull. His tongue was thick, his toes tingled inside his too-tightly-laced boots, and dots danced in front of his eyes, a myriad of glittering orbs of pink, yellow, and of course purple.

That Purple Rain was some strong stuff.

Rumpel dizzily regained his footing and brushed the crumbs of dirt off his white shirt. He always liked to look his best for important dates. He weaved his fingers through his wiry hair and checked his breath. Not bad, thanks to Belle's tea.

Turning around, he found himself standing directly in front of the door. This was it, no turning back. Standing up tall—not that it made much difference for his five-seven build—he knocked three times.

Wait, what was he supposed to say during this little date? He should have written notes on his hand. It was bound to be supremely awkward. It wasn't like he could babble on about his "work" in an effort to make small talk.

The door creaked open, a sound that made Rumpel's teeth ache. For a full minute, he underwent a critical examination of his attire and he awaited approval.

"Are you here for my daughter's birthday tea party…or to ask for her hand in marriage, Romeo?"

Jefferson scanned over Rumpel's lustrous white shirt, his curve-hugging black leather pants, and laced boots. Over his shoulder, Rumpel glimpsed little Gracie at her tea table, pouring tea for three. It wasn't make-believe this time, thank the gods. She caught him staring and jumped in her seat, but managed to smile politely.

"Too late for proposals, dearie," he lilted, brimming with inner joy of taking Belle as his wife. It had been hours since she had said yes and still he could not believe the wonder of it. Words like _Belle, wife, husband, _and _marriage_ paraded across his mind. "By this time next week, I'll be a married man. Happily, if I might add."

Jefferson's eyes flew wide in surprise. Rumpel chuckled and patted the hatter's cheek.

"Don't worry! You're invited. In fact, I'd love nothing more than for you to be my best man. Gracie can provide the flowers." Jefferson frowned, seeing right through Rumpel's act. Being Rumpelstiltskin's best man was payback for forcing Rumpel to endure teatime with Grace.

Rumpelstiltskin snuck past Jefferson to enter their pitiful hovel. He would never miss those days of his poor social status. Maybe after his wedding, he'd be gracious enough to invite Jefferson and Grace to spend the night at his castle.

For now, he bowed enthusiastically to Grace.

"Happy birthday, Grace," he exclaimed shrilly, helping himself to a seat across from the child. She nearly dropped the delicate tea kettle, gazing at him unblinkingly as if he had three heads. He studied the table and all her little stuffed friends. "Enjoying the company of your new bear, I see."

He pointed out the bear in the gown he'd bought for her at the marketplace.

"Yes. Thank you," Grace commended again, fixing her brown eyes on the pretty bear.

Apparently her father told her the reason for the Dark One's presence in their house since she was trying to be polite. Jefferson took the seat between Rumpel and Grace and offered both of them an endearing smile. They were all hoping to make the best of the situation.

"Would you like some tea?" Grace edged the cup closer to Rumpel. He picked it up carefully by the handle and sniffed the contents. Something lightly nudged him in the ribs.

"See, this isn't so bad, is it?" Jefferson tipped his teacup to his lips and drank deeply. Then he hungrily eyed the plates of cookies and cake on the table. Grace had the biggest piece, which sparked Rumpel's jealousy a bit.

Rumpel might have argued about the madness of this event…but he'd gotten into the habit lately of conserving his energy when it would only come back around and bite him in the arse otherwise. Grace relaxed a little when he finally tasted the tea. Better than the last time he was here, but nowhere near as heavenly as Belle's.

_Worse things have happened, _he mused. _After all, I could have been having tea with King Maurice. _

….

_It's a quiet day, _Regina thought, her suspicions rising by the time she planted her feet in front of her enchanted mirror. It was _too_ quiet, if you asked her.

Hardly a quiet day passed since she magically pushed her mother through that mirror, starting her down a dark path of which she could never retrace her steps. There was always a war, always tavern fights among drunken idiots, always false sightings of Snow White in a greedy attempt to heap the rewards, always massacres that had…nothing whatsoever to do with her eager command.

Why should today be any different?

With a wide-spread wave of her palm, the glass rippled. Her divine reflection disappeared, replaced by a vivid scene that was taking place somewhere deep inside the Enchanted Forest. This mirror was her window to the outside world when the citizens of those filthy villages named her a prisoner of royalty, hidden away in the sanctuary of her castle like a recluse. Though, oftentimes peering into her mirror yielded unsavory results.

The memories made her shudder from head to toe.

_There are the dwarves. How boring. If only they placed those pick-axes in the hands of someone who has the capability of realizing their true potential. Like me, _she thought with slight amusement. She flicked her nails and the picture changed. _There's the Blue Fairy. Did she shrink her dress by two sizes since the last I've seen her? Or does the mirror add ten pounds to those globes she's carrying? How does she not tip over while flying? _

Suddenly, the image of the Blue Fairy fizzled. Nothing but gray and black dots buzzed on the mirror's glass. Regina banged her hand on the ivory frame, but the picture didn't return. She never got away with spying on the fairies for too long. Fairies were much too self-conscious for their own good.

Regina cast the disrupted picture away, focusing instead on another corner of the realm. Her eyebrows rose in genuine surprise as the glass flickered with an incoming signal. That was odd—Rumpelstiltskin still had his mirror uncovered. Was he so perturbed by the disaster with his fair maid that he neglected to cover it again?

Regina grinned, rubbing her palms together gleefully. Well, if he was inadvertently offering an invitation, it would be rude not to accept it.

It only took a few additional seconds to get a clear image of the inside of the malevolent Dark Castle where her former mentor resided. Two seconds beyond that, Regina blinked uncomprehendingly at the mirror. Three seconds and Regina wanted to claw her eyes out of their sockets.

Rumpelstiltskin was modeling in front of his mirror. Trying on fancy clothes as if he could ever pass for handsome. Blech! Regina's stomach rolled unpleasantly just by watching the egotistical behavior unfold. Her throat burned as acid raced up from the pit of her stomach.

Was he going on a hot date? Who would ever care to date such a hideous beast? Unless…the maid never left his castle. Unless what those two had really was true love and the fools were willing to fight for it.

No! This was not the way it was supposed to happen!

Regina growled at the nauseating sight tramping through her mirror. Rumpel stuck his tongue out and she blanched. Did he just…stick his tongue out at her? It amazed her to no end that his tongue wasn't forked, given his reptilian appearance. Did he know she was watching?

No one stuck their tongue out at the Queen! If he wasn't busy trying to look like a Prince Charming wannabe with a skin disease, she would reach right through that mirror and rip his tongue out. Then she would wrap it up and send it to him as a birthday gift!

Regina's stomach rolled again, this time more violently. She clamped her hand over her belly while her skin glistened with cold sweat. Oh, she was going to be sick! Her chest heaved and her lips parted for air. _This isn't fair! I just got over the last stomach flu! _

She raced for the window and tossed her head into the fresh air, in time to empty her breakfast all over the courtyard below. Without looking in the direction of the mirror, she willed the nasty image of Rumpelstiltskin away.

That was the last time she ever spied on Rumpelstiltskin through her magic mirror.

….

Rumpelstiltskin did plenty of thinking that morning. He indulged in so much thinking, in fact, that he swore the crown of his head caught on fire from the overexertion of the wheels in his skull. The hot flash afterwards was so severe that he dunked his head in a tub of ice-cold water.

He couldn't say which he despised more: the startling heat or the frigid cold.

Fortunately, he arrived at an answer for the question he was pondering all morning.

He wanted to do something special for Belle, as an early wedding gift of sorts. For having the heart to accept him no matter his flaws, for loving him, and wanting to cure him of his sensitivity. No other woman in the world or the next would be selfless enough to do it, but then no other woman in the world was his true love. These strange feelings building inside him made him want to skip freely through his castle, slide down the railing of the stairwell, jump on his bed, and sing everything instead of simply speaking it.

He already gave her the library, but there was one other room he was confident she would enjoy.

"A little farther now. Almost there, I promise. Just follow the sound of my alluring voice," Rumpel directed, bobbing in front of Belle as he led her down a hallway that she rarely tended to in her duties as his maid. She had her eyes firmly closed and he made a note of watching closely in case she decided to pull something funny.

He learned a while ago never to underestimate Belle's curiosity.

Rumpel flitted backwards, a hair beyond Belle's reach, keeping an eye out for the correct door over his shoulder. A-ha! Here they were! He carefully edged the door open and shivered when a gust of wind slithered through the crack. Belle instinctively rubbed her arms for warmth. He pointed a finger to her elbow and fashioned sleeves under her blue dress.

"Thank you," she gratefully gasped, tugging the sheer sleeves over her wrists. Was that a trick of the light or did her eyelid flutter open?

"No peeking," he berated shrilly, clucking his tongue in annoyance. "Or I'll—" His words trailed off, his head empty of threats. How was he supposed to threaten his blushing bride-to-be?

"Or what?" She smiled sweetly, a sugary challenge presented at his feet. "What would you do to me, Rumpel? Bind me in a pair of those constricting leather pants?"

Something stirred deep in his abdomen, something terribly pleasant. The mental picture of Belle clad in skin-tight leather was…ooh, holy gods. Would she object to a leather-themed wedding?

"You don't even want to know what I would do—it's that dire! Best not chance it," he advised. The rasp in his voice betrayed the effect she had on him. Belle placed her hands on her hips—oh, those hips!—and blindly pouted in her childish way.

"Can't you give me one hint? Please?"

Rumpel tentatively clasped her hands, a sign of progress in taming the beast since this was one of the first times he touched Belle without initial physical contact on her part. He escorted her into the heart of the room, the hem of her sky-blue skirt whispering over her knees. He wracked his brain for a bone to toss her in the subtlest of clues.

"Da da da da," he chirped, pitifully off-key to his own ears. He began humming softly and swaying with Belle, only to be embarrassed to be so intently watched by the painted angels on the ceiling overhead. Belle giggled, a gentle note of music of its own accord.

If she knew the answer, she did not reveal it.

Rumpel guided her into the center so that she would be standing in the midst of the beauty he was about to present to her. He cautiously drew away, his hands lifting from her supple skin.

"Okay, open," he instructed, tenting his fingers under his chin and awaiting her reaction.

Belle's eyelids parted swiftly, fluttering sleepily for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the golden light. It fell upon her head like a halo, casting her in brilliant illumination while Rumpel shied away from it, creature of darkness that he was.

Then she gasped, the laces of her bodice straining to cradle her rising bosom. Not that he was staring at her chest as it rose and fell or whatever it naturally did. He just happened to notice, a brief glimpse or two.

Belle's cornflower blue eyes swiveled around the ballroom, her body whirling in rapid circles. There was gold everywhere: the marble amber floor patterned with rose-colored latticework in the center, gold columns on either side of the room and supporting higher balconies over-looking the dance floor, an exquisite golden chandelier with diamond teardrops that twinkled bright as the evening stars, golden high-vaulted ceiling featuring a delicately painted mural of heavenly angels. Belle was a lush blue river of color in the heart of the ballroom. Even Rumpel matched the décor with his unusual gold-tinted skin and silk clothing in shades of red, gold, and brown.

He'd caught Belle staring at his exposed chest one too many times to continue wearing that seductive white shirt. Self-conscious was an understatement when it came to his nature.

"It's so much more beautiful than any room in my father's castle," she sighed, enthralled in the majesty of the ballroom. She had never stepped foot inside this room because it was one of the rooms in this castle he kept under lock and key, magically speaking. As short as half a year ago, he never intended to share the ballroom with anyone, let alone a woman.

Belle continued to drift in circles under the enchanting glow of the chandelier. At one point, her normally adept footing faltered, her feet betraying her over the slick marble floor. Spinning herself dizzy, she pitched forward with the risk of falling to the ground. Alarm rang out through Rumpel and he swooped in to catch her in his arms. Those precious hands of hers scoured over his shoulders, entwining their way around his neck and splaying over the muscles of his back. Her breath clung to his mouth, teasing it enough to warrant the parting of his lips. Never before had the blood in his veins boiled with the intensity of molten lava, nor his thoughts become scrambled because of a sweet, floral aroma.

Purple Rain had nothing on the natural scent of Belle.

Rumpel sputtered and righted their bodies. He was intensely aware of the scorch of his cheeks as he averted his gaze elsewhere, somewhere that was not filled with the color blue. Pretty soon, his skin would be as golden as the ballroom because of his blushing.

"It's all yours," he finally stated, motioning his hand broadly to the length of the ballroom. He marveled at the way Belle's eyes never followed his hand. Surely the glory of the ballroom was a more welcome sight than the grisly, miserable face of the Dark One. "This whole castle is yours, Belle. The ring on your finger guarantees that."

Even without the promise of becoming his wedded wife, he would grant her this castle long before anyone else in the Enchanted Forest.

Gathering an inkling of courage, he reached across the breath of distance and tucked a stray curl of chestnut hair behind her ear. When Belle did nothing to interrupt or rebuke the gesture, his hand fell upon her rosy cheek, caressing it in the manner of a lover.

"It's ours," she replied, nuzzling her cheek deeper into his palm. He hesitated and she lifted her hand to hold his there. The sapphire ring sparkled on her finger, reminding him about their vow of marriage. "Dance with me."

Belle pulled away from his grasp, but only to catch his hands and encourage him to sway with her again. Rumpel froze. The last time he danced with a woman was….gods, he couldn't even remember! Had he ever truly danced with a woman? Milah never cared for it in the cramped space of their hut and Cora would rather learn magic instead of dancing. His feet shuffled backwards.

"No, no, no, I…I can't," he argued, shaking his head fervently. His heart started to ram in his chest. Of all the skills he possessed, dancing was not one of them. "I'm not a very good dancer." Belle tilted her head in disbelief. She probably figured he was only nervous.

"You are the most graceful man I've ever met. There are women in this world that would envy your footwork." She insistently tugged on his hands, but he struggled.

"Belle, I don't think I would know how to—"

"Then I'll teach you," she retorted.

Belle seemed unwilling to take no for an answer. He had a sudden vision of Belle possessing all the courage in this relationship, of being the one to make the most critical of decisions. They played a game of tug-of-war, their heels scraping over the marble in completely different directions.

"I'll step on your foot," he warned in desperation for an escape.

"It'll heal," Belle casually returned.

Rumpel glimpsed the door over his shoulder. How could it be so far away? He considered transporting magically to the library or the kitchen or the gardens, if only Belle's grip would loosen. It was like wiggling out of iron bracelets.

"You know, I think I left a fire going in the kitchen—" With one last tug, he managed to squirm away from Belle, nearly falling on his behind in the process. Belle used his clumsiness to her advantage and latched onto his elbow.

"Do you trust me?"

His fingers were poised to snap and conjure a cloud of Purple Rain, but he paused. Belle let him go, instead holding out her hand in offering. There were no strings attached—she was letting him make the choice. He slowly licked his lips, contemplating.

"I trust you more than any person in this world," he admitted. Hesitantly, he laid his hand in hers. Belle smiled proudly, reeling him back to her.

"Alright, now place your hand on my hip," she commanded.

Rumpel balked, his eyes flying straight to the curve of her small waist. He stared back and forth from her waist to his fingers, fearing what the stimuli would do to his addled brain. It was true that he'd been fantasizing about what those hips would feel like under his hands, but this wasn't the way he imagined it.

"Your….your what?" Belle started to bring his hand down to her waist.

"My hip. Right…here."

She pressed his hand to her hip, so round and soft under his touch. Someone moaned and he realized a moment later that the sound fell from his open mouth. His desires got the best of him and he readjusted his hand more strongly on her hip, savoring its perfection. The other hand wove with Belle's, his fingertips tingling as they brushed hers.

"Now we dance."

Belle pushed against him, the force of her body urging him to step backwards. Back, forth, back, forth, side to side once he got the hang of the first stage of dancing. With Belle's guidance, it was like floating on clouds. Belle seemed comfortable with the activity, but Rumpel couldn't stop looking down at his staggering feet. Occasionally Belle would tap his chin, directing it upwards again with a whisper of _trust me. _

He almost lost control when she let go of his hand long enough to spin outwards, her blue skirt flourishing, and then tuck herself snugly in his arms.

"This isn't right," he murmured, forcing Belle to quit her movement after a few minutes of awkward sliding across the floor. Belle's shoulders slumped, her expression one of sympathy.

"You're doing fine so far," she assured. He dared to take a step further into her embrace, reassuring her that he wasn't going anywhere yet.

"No, not the dancing. It's…" How did he put this in a way she would best understand? He had never been so tongue-tied in his life. He pinched the hem of her simple blue dress. "I don't want to dance with my scullery maid. You're to be my wife, not my servant. I want to dance with the beautiful, strong, confident princess I fell in love with. It's about time you had a change of apparel, dearie."

Still pinching the cotton bodice, the fabric split apart and fell from Belle's skin in strips. Instead of exposing her undergarments, however, the sky-blue dress was replaced swiftly with golden silk. The skirts rustled as Belle examined the golden dress she wore the night he met her. She nodded in approval.

"What about you?"

She gave his attire a small once-over. Rumpel glanced down at his leather pants. He didn't quite see what was wrong with it, though it was somewhat tedious to dance in leather pants.

"Too dark?" An idea formed inside his head. He would give Belle exactly what she needed. "I suppose I'll have to dress the way you make me feel." He waved his hand over his clothing and it transformed into sapphire garb, worthy of royalty. "Like your Prince Charming. May I have this dance?"

This time, it was his hand that extended in request. Belle smiled and readily took his hand. A surge of desire shot through him and he raised Belle's hand to his lips, kissing it softly.

Then they began to move rhythmically together, swirling as one entity over the shining amber floor. Rumpel never once glanced down at his feet, drowning headfirst in Belle. There was no way to tell how much time had passed except for the shadows stretching over the balcony beyond the glass doors of the ballroom.

Rumpel did not need to voice it aloud, for he was entirely certain Belle felt the same as she twirled in his arms: this was a dance they could have continued forever.

….

_**I hope everyone enjoyed the Rumbelle rendition of that iconic Beauty and the Beast moment there. I'm glad everyone seemed to enjoy Alice's reveal last chapter. Anyone else looking forward to the spin-off of Once this year? **_

_**Also, I have to thank my reviewers for bringing this story up to 100 reviews. I appreciate all the support and the encouragement to continue writing. **_

_**By the way, you are all cordially invited to the wedding of Rumpelstiltskin and Belle next chapter. *marriage theme* *hands out invites* The question here is: will Rumpelstiltskin make it through the ceremony without fainting? **_

_**Shout-outs: I want to thank Huntress4455, thedoctorsgirl42, Grace5231973, Leona, MyraValhallah, asalia, Drac1026, Just 2 Dream of You, SwanQueen4055, cheesyteal'c, juju0268, Guest, thewordgirl, and AngelofDarkness1605 for their awesome reviews. You shall have extra-large slices of wedding cake to show my gratitude. (-; **_


	9. The Wedding

_**A/N: Hello, readers. First off, I want to apologize for this update taking so long. Life has kept me terribly busy lately and I have very little free time to write these days. Second, I wish to thank all those that have left awesome reviews last chapter and I hope you enjoy Rumpel and Belle's big day. Trust me, I'd like this to happen on the show just as much as you guys. **_

Rumpelstiltskin glared down into the empty tub at his feet, the whorl in the wood hypnotizing him briefly with its spider-web cracks and elliptical spirals. The last time he bathed properly was before this sensitivity issue. It had taken him until the moment he was standing at the tub's edge with his hand outstretched to realize he was a little afraid of the results of taking a warm bath with senstivity.

His fingers wiggled in the air, debating whether to magically conjure water. Should he or should he not? Normally, he would find the matter too troubling and choose not to deal with it, walk away...

...But this was his wedding day. He needed to look and smell his best for Belle. She deserved no less from the man she was set to marry. They were to be wed at sunset, following which would come the bedding. Oh, the bedding-it made Rumpel shiver with delight and apprehension just by thinking about it.

Either way, he needed to get in that tub. Not even cats would put up as much of a fight. Besides, it was only bathwater, completely harmless. It wouldn't kill him.

Magic hummed through his veins, being summoned to the very tips of his fingers. Without hesitation, fresh water swirled over the wood, curdles of steam rising to give sign of its scalding temperature. The room filled with moist vapor, the dampness clinging to Rumpel's scaly skin. He counted every drop that rolled from his neck or his forehead, his feet shuffling all the while toward the lip of the tub.

A vial of rose oil tipped over the tub, coating the surface of the water with frothy bubbles and permeating a floral scent. Only the Dark One could smell like roses on his wedding day and still be feared throughout the land.

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the door was firmly closed. Not a single sliver to allow in the light from the hallway, though it still seeped underneath the door. Then he slowly peeled his vest from his body, followed by the fine silk shirt underneath it. The vapor was humid enough to chase away the castle's draftiness, at taking his snake-eyes away from the churning waters that waited for him, Rumpel undid his laces and shimmied out of his leather pants. Gods, if Belle ever witnessed his hips wiggle that way...

Gone were the undergarments, every piece of cloth shed until he stood bare and exposed to the world, scathingly eyeing the tub as he would a worthy opponent.

One foot lifted from the clammy floor and hovered over the rippling water. He sucked in a deep breath and dipped his toe in. Hissing, he wrenched it back. That water was much too hot yet. The way his toe tingled from that tiniest contact, it could have been dipped in acid. He paced the floor restlessly, excrutiatingly aware of his nudity.

What was he afraid of, really? That his brain would fry from sensory overload? Belle accomplished that already just by breathing. He should plunge in head-first and get it over with, sort of like diving into a frozen lake. It would sting the first few seconds, but the body naturally adjusted. And what if Belle decided to visit him at this moment, walk in while he was pacing here without a stitch on his body?

Better to take that bath and be done with it.

Rumpel paused before the lip of the tub again. Some of the bubbles had popped and cleared, the froth thinning. His fragmented reflection danced across the water. Once more he raised his foot over the edge, allowing it to descend with the same snail-like slowness as the first time around.

Carefully...gently...quickly, now before he changed his mind-

His foot sank into the depths of the tub, into the core of the heat.

_"Aiiyeee," _Rumpel screeched on the top of his lungs. Reflexively, his leg flew back out of the water, but he lost his balance and pitched forward. His arms flapped in the air, unable to prevent the shock he knew was coming.

The water raced up to meet him and he tumbled head-first into the tub. The heat swarmed his body, a cocoon of fire. The bubbles invaded his eyes and he screamed underwater. Boiling liquid filled his mouth and he could safely say that rose oil did not taste as favorable as it sounded. At one point, his legs became ice-cold and he realized they were sticking up in the air, his body diving to the bottom of the tub instead of the surface.

Finally, he managed to right himself long enough for his head to break through the water. His nerves trembled from being startled too harshly and too hastily. Dog-paddling to the edge of the tub, he clung to it and gulped in soothing breaths of air. Moans fell from his mouth, pitiful mewing that betrayed his vulnerability.

The sound of footsteps bounded through the hall and he barely had a moment to register the source before the door flew wide open.

"What-oh," Belle cried, bursting into the room, a flurry of color. Catching sight of her husband-to-be in all his glory in the middle of the tub, she blushed fiercely and whirled around to give him privacy. From the tub, he watched the way her shoulders quivered slightly and he longed to rub the worry away. "I'm sorry. I should have knocked. You screamed and I thought...something might have happened."

Rumpel eased back from the edge of the tub. The splash of the water alerted Belle to his movements, her head tilting ever so slightly to peek over her shoulder. The bathwater was not as cruel to his skin as a moment ago-once his body adjusted, it felt comforting. The bubbles were nearly gone, though. He swept the remaining white clouds around his body, shielding Belle's view of what lay beneath.

"I was just...drawing a bath," he replied. _Obviously, _he mentally berated himself.

Belle rubbed her hands over arms, the vapor fading and exposing her to the drafts of the castle. She was becoming more confident, inching her body around in a tight circle. Soon she would be face-to-face with him, as casually as if they were sharing a meal at the table.

Rumpel pushed more of the bubbles over his chest.

"Most people don't scream when they bathe," she teased. That promise of a smile on her lips provoked his senses. He forced himself to focus on the water ebbing over his thighs and caressing his waist. Only, his imagination ran away and he began to fantasize that it was Belle's fingers, not the water, doing the work. Crawling over his stomach, dipping under his leg, slithering in and out and around, everywhere.

Now she was half-turned and the bubbles were few and far between. One popped in front of his chest, one less to hide his body.

"Most people you know aren't suffering from oversensitivity," he countered. He wondered if cats and babies yowled as loudly as he had upon landing in bathwater. "I fell in," he added. Belle's lips puckered, forming a small _O. _Her dark hair cascaded in front of her face as her head bent.

"May I turn around? Or would you prefer I...leave?"

Rumpel settled back against the wall of the tub, sinking into the water until it reached his neck. His eyes darted to the pile of clothes left in a puddle on the floor and Belle spotted them at the same time. It brought a fresh layer of pink to her cheeks.

"Monster that I am, I'm afraid I'm too greedy to ask you to leave, Belle. I'll never ask, but if you want to, you can. As for turning around, I seem to have no power over you."

Belle took a minute to absorb his words. Then she wiped her palms on her skirts and finished turning in her circle. Those shining blue jewels lingered on his face before inevitably drifting lower, glimpsing beyond the veil of bubbles and water. They traveled back up to his face, her expression holding little surprise or worry. He let her look. The same was bound to happen tonight, anyway.

"You're not a monster," Belle insisted wearily. She drew closer to the tub and hiked her chin high in the air. "Princesses don't marry monsters."

Rumpel opened his mouth to argue that, by that claim, she should not be marrying _him_. After all, he was the monster of all monsters in this land. However, he was stunned into silence when Belle strode around the tub and knelt behind him. He stiffened and leaned away from the edge, but her hands softly fell upon his shoulders.

"You work yourself too hard, Rumpel. There are so many knots in your back," she told him. Her fingers lightly brushed over a particularly twisted knot near his neck and he winced as she nudged it back and forth. At the same time, he craned his neck to expose his throat, willing her to do whatever she pleased. "If you want, I can try to rub it out. You'll feel loads better without the strain."

He found himself nodding even before he thought it through entirely. For too long his muscles ached without any chance of relief. He was well aware of the countless rigid knots that had formed underneath his skin, but he soon learned to live with them, simply another aspect of his deformed figure. What woman would ever consider rubbing out the kinks in the Dark One's bare body?

Belle would.

She encouraged his head to tilt back over the edge of the tub as she went to work on his shoulders first. His head was close to her chest, close enough that he could sense when she breathed in and out. Tenderly her fingers stroked his skin, coaxing the swollen muscle to release its tension. Rumpel's eyelids swiftly closed, his mind and body relaxing under the power of Belle's touch.

"You're moaning," she giggled into his ear. His breathing quickened as her fingers moved to the back of his neck, rubbing upwards into his scalp and then dancing their way downward again. He was limp in the tub and completely yielding to her will.

"This...feels...good," he sighed.

Belle's breath tickled his cheek, her hands delved beneath the rim of the tub to massage his tired back. He flexed the muscles of his arms and arched his back to give her access. Belle didn't stop at the waterline, as he assumed she would. Her fingers kept on going, sinking into the warm water, threading across his spine. Up, down, back up only to travel down again, further than before.

"Oh, oh..._ahhh!" _

White sparks of light exploded in Rumpel's head. Belle carried his soul to euphoric heights he never had the strength to reach before. She was the master of deep-tissue massages. Her fingers wove magically over his shoulders, curving over his shoulder blades, tracing the length of his spine, taunting his chest, splaying over his stomach...She only hesitated in exploring lower. Perhaps it was because he was already shaking with pleasure in her arms and that sort of bravery would be his ultimate undoing.

Her hands retreated to the surface, patting his shoulder only once.

"Feel better?" He turned his head weakly to stare up into her beautiful face.

"Oh, yes. Loads better," he assured her. In fact, he never felt more at ease throughout these past three centuries. He may be the all-powerful Dark One with an arsenal of spells and potions at his disposal, but Belle harnessed a natural blend of magic that could never be replicated from a spellbook. He collapsed in her embrace, her lips teasing his jaw. "Thank you, Belle."

She shrugged; he heard the shift of fabric.

"Well, you and I are going to come together tonight, anyway," she reasoned. "This might be considered our warm-up session." He smirked at her dark humor. Oh, his brave girl.

"Belle, if you're only intending to do this to relieve me of my sensitivity curse...You don't have to sacrifice your virtue in my name. If you're not ready, we can wait. There'll be plenty of time-" His words trailed off as her lips pressed to his cheek.

"I am ready. You're the only man I want, Rumpel," she said vehemently. She had no idea how happy he was to hear it. If it were not for their apparent true love, he would assume there were handsome princes out there worthy of her love. It constantly blind-sided him to understand she chose him over every other reasonable man in this land. "And is it such a crime if I hope to save you? You saved me the day I fell from that ladder-you were there to catch me. You saved my kingdom from the Ogre War. You saved me from an arranged marriage that I never cared for, one that would have left me chained to the ground, lonely, and unhappy for the rest of my life. It's my turn to save you."

He listened to Belle rise from her knees, her hand leaving his shoulder. It instantly felt ice-cold where her hand had been and he missed her touch dearly. She made a little cough and he paused to wonder why she hadn't moved beyond rising to her feet.

"Rumpel...the bubbles are gone."

He glanced down in alarm. She was right; the froth had dissipated and there were no bubbles to hide the portion of his body that lurked beneath the water. He panicked. Using his magic, he made one of the extra vials on the shelf fly into his hand and he poured the entire thing over the water until it was nearly overflowing with bubbles.

Belle laughed and took her time in departing from the room. When she was gone, Rumpel's head bent to rest on the edge of the tub, the now-lukewarm water vastly unappealing to him. _That woman will be the death of me yet. _

...

Their wedding was to be a small, quiet one. Not that they had much choice in the matter. No one in the Enchanted Forest would want to attend the Dark One's wedding, any more than they would be willing to attend Regina's, should she have one. But whereas Regina would demand and threaten the good citizens to show up for her big day, Rumpelstiltskin did not care either way. Theoretically, he could pull in all those owed favors for the sake of having wedding guests, but that was a waste of favors and he didn't particularly want them crowding his castle, anyway. He cringed just thinking about how much the royals squawked all the time-it'd be like listening to ten thousand crows cawing at the exact same time. Or ten thousand fingernails grinding on a piece of slate.

The only guest he ever regretted not having, so to speak, was Belle's father. It wasn't because he was fond of the man or that he harbored the desire to impress the father of his bride-to-be. That wouldn't happen even in his sweetest dreams. The reason he regretted it was because it hurt Belle dearly not to have her father present for one of the most meaningful days of her life.

After that scene with the bath, Rumpel found Belle among the roses in the gardens, trying to write a letter to her father in hopes of explaining the news. Several pieces of parchment already scattered the ground at her feet, many of the lines crossed out and illegibly blotted by the ink. She had been quietly weeping when he finally took the quill and parchment from her hands and allowed her to fall into his arms for comfort. As he rubbed her back, he asked her if she wanted to have her father there for her wedding. If-by some miracle-her father agreed to come, Rumpel would endure it for Belle's sake. But Belle merely shook her head, pressing her tear-soaked cheek deeper into his chest.

"Yes, of course I want my father with me on my wedding day," she admitted, pointing her chin to the ruined letters wavering in the wind. Rumpel nodded and poised his fingers to snap, mentally recalling the exquisite details of Belle's castle, but her hand captured his, urging him to stop. "But...I'm afraid..."

That revelation startled Rumpel. Ever since the night he had taken Belle to his castle, he had never once known her to be afraid of anything, least of all him. Never did she complain about the demanding chores, never did she cower in her cell from his shadow, never did she treat him with anything but consideration and kindness. Now, his heart melted to watch his fearless beauty be the one to tremble uncontrollably, that delicate pink lip caught between her teeth.

"Sweetheart," he crooned. Two of his fingers tipped her chin upwards so that she stared up into his eyes. "What do you have to be afraid about?" Belle's smile was fragile and disheartened, falling away as easily as it rose.

"I'm afraid...my father will never understand." She sniffled and set her sights on the fluttering pages again. "That's why I was writing the letter. Not to invite him to the wedding, really, but to explain why it is happening in the first place. I wanted to tell him that I found my happiness."

In the end, Belle gathered the inky papers and decided to let the matter be. It was the only sadness she ever expressed in anticipation of their wedding, but it was seared into Rumpel's mind, nonetheless. Belle had spoken the truth: someone like King Maurice would never be able to understand how his royal daughter, who should have married a well-off, highly-respected man like Gaston, could possibly wish to marry the most fearsome beast of the Enchanted Forest. In Maurice's world, that was equal to saying two plus two equalled five or claiming one could paint the sky red. It was unnatural and unimaginable.

The front hall had been cleared of all furniture in preparation for the wedding. The stone floors had been swept free of dust, the carpets aired out, fresh flowers had been set in vases around the castle, the curtains drawn aside to let in the glow of the sun. The mirrors had been covered with sheets so Regina would not be able to spy. Rumpelstiltskin wiped the sweat from his brow. He didn't know how Belle succeeded in running up and down the stairs all day, but he approved of her stamina.

Everything was ready. The only thing left to do was wait for sunset, when their wedding was due to take place. Of course, the bride was also noticeably absent.

Rumpel paced around the library, flexing his fingers until his knuckles cracked, and staring out the window every few minutes or so. Despite the view of the mountainside, the road remained eerily empty. Belle had gone to the town market for her wedding dress, insisting that Rumpel was not allowed to magically conjure it because it was bad luck for the groom to lay eyes on the bride before the wedding. She told him she would be back for afternoon tea. Granted, that was only two minutes ago, but still...a lot could happen in two minutes.

Rumpel's legs grew tired and he dropped onto his stool in front of his spinning wheel. Weakly, he brought his hand up to the arch of the wheel and rotated it. The ancient creak echoed in his ears. He had not spun since the day Belle kissed him that first time-he had no desire to forget any amount of time spent in her company.

He closed his eyes and sat excrutiatingly still on that stool for a time, remembering their enchanting dance in the ballroom. He recalled the way she felt in his arms, so lively and warm, their bodies drifting in synchronization.

Somewhere deep in the Dark Castle, there came a resounding knock. Someone was at the front door. Had he locked the door, barring Belle from entrance? He didn't remember doing so, but it had been his habit of defense for years. Or were Belle's hands too full with her bought goods to open the door?

Oh, the poor dear. He leaped to his feet and raced for the stairs, just as there was another knock. _Fear not, Belle. I am coming! _His foot tripped on the second stair, one of the rickety ones, and he went tumbling the rest of the way down. He groaned at the bottom, his head aching from the impact. _Not to self: fix that damned step!_

He ignored the discomfort to the best of his ability, scrambling to his feet and carrying on down the grand staircase to the front doors of the castle. He twisted the knob, flung open the door, spread his arms wide and-

"Oh, it's just _you_," he grumbled in disappointment. Turning his back, he dismissed his guests with a half-hearted wave of his hand and stalked back into his castle. His guests failed to take the hint, dogging at his heels and stinking bitterly of pine from the forest.

"Your etiquette for greeting guests is extraordinary, Rumpelstiltskin," Jefferson remarked sardonically. He proceeded to mockingly tip his hat and shrugged out of his jacket, leaving it on a nearby windowsill. Grace kept her cloak on. "Have you ever considered passing your wisdom to us lesser folk down the mountain?"

Rumpel made a low _humph _in the back of his throat, but refused to bite Jefferson's line. Let the hatter have his fun; this was _his _big day and it would not be spoiled because of a little sarcasm. Besides, his etiquette was perfectly acceptable most days. It just bothered him that Jefferson was obviously _not _Belle.

"Did I pick enough flowers for the wedding, Mr. 'Stiltskin?"

Grace politely offered the basket that was swinging from her arm, filled to the brim with wild flowers of all types and colors. Jefferson chuckled at Grace's title for Rumpelstiltskin. Rumpel knelt to Grace's level and humored her. He had no qualms about the child taking up space in his castle, so long as she didn't fall asleep and shout about squeezing him to death.

"How lovely," he complimented. Spying a bright blue one that would match Belle's eyes, he reached a hand into the basket to take it. He never noticed the thorn sprouting from its stem. It pricked his thumb and he shot up to full height. He stuck his thumb into his mouth and sucked on it. "Ow! You didn't think to strip the thorns?" He frantically sucked on his thumb and cringed at the taste of his own vile blood.

"We got them on the road, not the market," Jefferson retorted. Grace looked rather guilty about the thorn incident. Rumpel took a careful step away from her and her pretty little basket. She sidled closer to her father's side and tugged on his hand.

"Papa, you told me to stop sucking my thumb when I was younger. Why is he still doing it?" She stealthily glanced in Rumpel's direction. He quit licking his wound long enough to frown at the child. Jefferson smirked.

"Well, Grace, not many people realize that Rumpelstiltskin is an overgrown child at heart," he said, patting her back. Rumpel stuck his tongue out, which only fed the childish image Jefferson was feeding to his daughter. "You should be nicer to your wedding guests. It so happens I brought you a present."

Rumpel clapped his hands unenthusiastically. He hated surprises.

Jefferson dug around in his pocket and his eyes brightened an instant before he pulled out his fist. There was something enclosed inside it, something making muffled, squeaking noises. Rumpel shrank back suspiciously as Jefferson's hand blossomed.

What the...?

"Of all the marvelous items on sale in the marketplace, your choice of a wedding gift is...a cricket?" It was no ordinary cricket, but the acknowledgment of that fact didn't spark Rumpel's interest any. The cricket was clad in a tiny suit with a black umbrella hanging on his green arm. Rumpel poked its head. "You were a lot taller last time we met."

Jiminy scurried backwards on Jefferson's palm to escape Rumpel's poking. Grace clung to her father's hand, urging him to lower it so she could see the cricket.

"I found him hopping around on the road. I figured a cricket with a conscience would be the best candidate to marry you to your true love. Plus, I've tried hiring several ministers on my way here and each one either emptied his bladder on the floor or laughed me out of their sights. Apparently they thought I was telling a joke."

Rumpel cocked his head, contemplating it for a while.

"He'll do," he finally relented. Jefferson handed Jiminy off to Grace, who suggested to the cricket that they play hide-and-seek until the wedding started. Jiminy seemed eager to not spend any extra time with either Jefferson or Rumpel and took to Grace's kindness quickly. Rumpel called after her angrily. "Don't lose my cricket!"

Silence fell around Rumpel and Jefferson. The hatter made himself at home, perching on the railing of the stairs with ease and admiring the grandiose sights of the Dark Castle. _I could live here _was written all over his face, much to Rumpel's disgust.

"So...when do I get to meet the love of your life?" Jefferson flashed a bright smile. Rumpel opened his mouth to answer with a remark along the lines of: _If I had my way, never. _Unfortunately, the sound of the castle's doors opening prevented it from escaping his mouth.

Belle flew into the castle, a bundle of white silk rolled in her arms. She smiled happily at Rumpel and blushed when she realized they had company. A ladylike cursty followed her surprise. Jefferson's eyes were wider than that time during his first meeting with Regina.

"I believe introductions are in order," Jefferson hinted, aiming knives into Rumpel's head. Rumpel gritted his teeth and fleetingly thought about sticking out his tongue again, but he didn't want Jefferson to seem more appealing to his bride-to-be. It was with a tough swallow of his pride and undivided attention on Belle that he stretched his hand toward the hatter.

"Belle, this is-"

"The name's Jefferson," the hatter interrupted, boldly clasping Belle's hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

The gesture caught Belle off-guard and she appeared conflicted over how to react to Jefferson's lips on her hand. Rumpel shifted uncomfortably. Were the hatter's lips stuck to Belle's skin? He was taking too long! His frustration got the better of him and he kicked Jefferson's leg. Jefferson yelped, but at least he dropped Belle's hand.

"Pleasure to meet you," he finished.

Rumpel glared at the hatter, promising vengeance for that inappropriate intimacy. He settled his gaze on the ball of silk in Belle's hands and tented his fingers together. Curiously, he inched closer and pinched the fabric. Belle whipped it away.

"Ah, ah, ah!" She scolded, keeping the dress out of reach from her husband-to-be. He pouted. "You know the rule: the groom is not allowed to see the bride or her dress before the wedding. It's bad luck!" Rumpel stomped his foot on the ground as Belle removed her cloak and used it to shield her wedding dress.

"It's not very fair. You saw _me _this morning," he reminded her slyly. To his satisfaction, Belle gasped and fumbled uneasily with the dress. He attempted to use her moment of distress to snatch up the dress, but her reflexes were fast enough so that she flitted out of his reach once more. He scowled.

"You'll get your chance this evening," she promised and placed a peck on his cheek. She rushed up the stairs to get ready for the wedding. After her departure, Jefferson raised an eyebrow, though he was still half-bent and rubbing his leg.

"I take it she walked in on you in your wedding suit?" _More like my birthday suit, _Rumpel thought, his neck flaming up. It was a good thing he hadn't spent enough time with Jefferson for the hatter to recognize when the Dark One became embarrassed.

"Yes, let's go with that."

...

This was it. The big day, the big hour. The moment that would ultimately bind him and Belle in holy matrimony loomed closer with every passing second.

Rumpel stood at the doors of his castle, gazing out into the distance. The front doors had been opened wide to greet the approaching sunset, the incandescent golden rays blanketing the pale mountainside and landing swiftly at his dark feet. The sunset harbored no fear of the Dark Castle, illuminating every mile of marble and every stretch of stone until the castle appeared inviting instead of daunting. A good sign, considering this castle was to be Belle's true home and she the lady of the castle.

He closed his eyes as the sinking sunlight washed over his beastly face. It was not instinctual due to being blinded by the sunlight, as so often happened in the mornings now. He simply wanted to savor the sensation of the warm rays being absorbed by his skin. It was not harsh in temperature nor did it threaten to scald him with a sunburn. It did not force him to retreat into the farthest, darkest, coldest corners of his castle.

It was almost...gentle. Peaceful. Welcoming. As if the light forgave him his dark crimes and took him readily into its embrace in celebration of this big day. The darkness never forgave.

"Practicing your wedding vows? Or perhaps planning your honeymoon?" Jefferson's voice shattered Rumpel's serenity, eliciting a growl of contempt from his crude lips. He swiveled on his heel to see the hatter striding up what was to be the aisle. It wasn't a comforting overlaying image, that was for sure.

"You're expecting I'll make a mistake? Or become so emotional that my tears will prevent me from finishing what I started? Well, joke's on you: I'm ready as any reasonable man waiting to be married. In fact, why stall it? Let the show begin."

The sooner the wedding started, the faster he could usher Jefferson out of his castle. It was amusing to torture him with the idea of being his best man at first, but now the hatter was lounging in his chairs and eating all his food and talking to Belle while her husband-to-be was not allowed to see her before the wedding.

Jefferson held up his hands, feigning surrender. That goofy smile gave it away.

"Down, boy," he teased. Rumpel grunted disapprovingly. What was he, a dog? "If I were you, which thankfully I'm not, I wouldn't be so eager to 'get on with it'. The wedding will be the easy part. It's the bedding afterwards that will kill you. Here's to hoping you don't get cold feet."

Jefferson slipped a flask from his pocket and tipped it to his lips. No doubt it was Rumpel's wine sloshing around in there, now tunneling its way to Jefferson's stomach. He wondered if the hatter intended on getting drunk so he wouldn't have to be much of a witness to the Dark One's wedding.

Rumpel licked his lips, longing to ease the butterflies stampeding through his belly. But he turned his head from the battered deer-skin flask and silenced the desire to drink because, well, just look how it turned out the last time he was intoxicated. If he got drunk now, he may very well meet Belle halfway down the aisle, plant a sloppy kiss on her lips, and be convinced they were already married.

No, a drink was a terrible idea. In any case, he wished to remember every fleeting second of this night.

"Where's the cricket?"

Rumpel's snake-eyes swept the floor, searching for a little green fellow in a suit. By all means, Jefferson could do the honors. It wasn't like a true minister would waltz through the door and be willing to marry the Dark One to a royal princess. But with the way Jefferson was chugging on that flask, Rumpel decided it wouldn't be appropriate to have a drunken hatter marrying them. It'd be humiliating, maybe a wee bit humorous, but definitely not appropriate.

"You lost the cricket?" Jefferson's eyebrows shot to his hairline. Rumpel froze in place, his leg half-raised in the air while he examined the bottom of his boot. No cricket. Gods, what would he tell Belle? That they couldn't be married? That his drunken somewhat friend would take over?

Then he registered the grin sliding over Jefferson's lips.

"Relax," Jefferson reassured, clapping Rumpel on the shoulder. Rumpel glowered and gingerly plucked Jefferson's hand from his body. He never liked people touching him before and he hated it now. Belle was the exception, of course. "The cricket is upstairs with your bride-to-be, subtly making sure she's not marrying you against her will. It comes with the whole conscience reputation."

Rumpel whirled to face the winding grand staircase, imagining the cricket in one of the rooms on the second floor, interrogating Belle and probing for some sign of cruelty on his part. He muttered curses at the cricket's ignorance. He would never force Belle to marry him against her will!

But only Belle truly knew that. Everyone else in the Enchanted Forest saw a fearsome beast who stole the beautiful maiden from her family and did only-the-gods-knew-what behind the closed doors of his formidable castle.

A black and green dot bouced down the ivory stairs, its legs making a soft _plip-plop, plip-plop, plip-plop. _It hopped across the floor, very slowly since the distance must have been equal to a vast desert for one so small. The cricket was breathing heavily and had to use his miniscule black umbrella for support by the time he reached the end of the aisle.

"I'm here," Jiminy huffed, though he did not sound too enthusiastic of the fact. He wiped his brow on his sleeve. "Belle is coming as we speak. I asked her to give me a head-start."

Rumpel's shoulders slumped in relief. Belle passed the cricket's test; their marriage would not be interrupted. Not that Rumpel would stand for such an unnecessary obstacle. If the cricket came hopping down those stairs crying "so sorry, no can do," he'd win a one-way ticket out the window.

"Here comes Grace," Jefferson announced, voice thick with drink and emotion. He certainly seemed springier in step. "Oh, but you probably already knew that."

Rumpel kept his eyes glued to the scenery of the mountainside beyond the castle's threshold. He listened to the singular pattern of Grace's footsteps marching down the aisle, mixed with the wind of the petals drifting to the floor. How many of those petals did she insist on tossing? A hurricane of rose and lilac petals brewed behind him.

And then came the steady steps of his bride-to-be, making her way to the foyer of the castle. She was heading down the hallway of the second floor, she was passing his bedchambers which would belong to her tonight, she was nearing the staircase. The precise rhythm of her steps matched the pulsing of his heart.

He turned around, anticipating her arrival.

There was a flash of pure white and suddenly she was there, standing proudly at the top of the steps. The chestnut hair he admired was beautifully arranged in curls atop her head, though several loose spirals framed her rosy cheeks. Never had he seen a pair of eyes smile as brilliantly as those bottomless blue ones were doing now. The gown cinched her small waist and hugged her curves in all the right places, blossoming in luxurious layers to her feet. A thin veil-so delicate that it could have been crafted out of snowflakes-masked her lovely face.

She was a glorious sight to behold as she gracefully descended the stairs, the train of her skirts whispering as it spilled over each step. The rose and lilac petals were swept up by her dress as she walked, becoming one with the fabric. Step by step, she drew closer to him, a flicker of light amidst an ocean of darkness.

Jefferson whistled lowly, eyes boggling out of their sockets. Rumpel snapped out of his awed stupor long enough to slap him on the back of the head. That was _his _bride-to-be that Jefferson was mentally undressing.

"Somehow, I suspect that hurt you more than it hurt me," Jefferson stated. Rumpel wrinkled his nose as the stench of alcohol invaded it and he fought the urge to wave his hand to ease the sting from the slap. Belle might think he was waving at her.

Finally Belle reached his side and he gently accepted her hand, bringing it to his lips. The pleasurable feel of her velvety skin across his lips encouraged him to kiss her longer than was appropriate. At least she seemed to like it more than when Jefferson did it.

When his lips parted, a sigh escaped. This was bliss.

"You're not supposed to kiss the bride before the cricket says so," Jefferson taunted, pointing his flask at the tiny figure at their feet. A drop of alcohol rained on the cricket's head, almost drowning him. Rumpel hoped that the cricket wouldn't be the next one to get drunk as a result of Jefferson's foolishness.

"I kissed her _hand_, not her lips!" Belle laughed, immediately chasing away his annoyance. The sunset warmed her face, giving it a healthy glow. He dared to lift the veil and caress her cheek with the back of his hand. Ever so slightly, she tilted her head, allowing it to fall into his touch.

Gods, she was beautiful.

Belle glanced down at the cricket waiting to marry them. Her expression crumbled into one of adoration, her heart leaping into her eyes.

"I've never heard of a cricket performing the marriage ceremony before. Isn't he adorable?" Belle cooed. Rumpel and Jefferson exchanged uneasy stares. They had witnessed their fair share of oddities during their lifetimes; a talking cricket didn't even rank in the top ten.

"Oh, _sure_," Rumpel mumbled sarcastically. He cursed the Blue Fairy for the billionth time since the night he lost Bae. "You turn a grown man into a miniature animal and make him talk and women everywhere start to melt."

It wasn't fair how the cards were dealt in this world. It wasn't his fault he had to be recognized from the start as something dark and dangerous. The title of the Dark One didn't exactly scream _hug me, I'm cute. _The Blue Fairy wasn't as pure as everyone believed, either. She just happened to win the popular vote through sugary-sweet bribes. He could do that, too. Of course, if he popped up outside someone's house and offered up an innocent piece of cake, they might think it was infected with some poison or disease. And if he turned someone into a cricket, it'd be seen as an offense.

Jefferson snorted into his flask.

"You should try it sometime. I happen to think you'd make a great chipmunk," he offered. Grace giggled from where she stood behind Belle. Rumpel met Jiminy's beady black eyes and rolled his finger in a circular gesture, urging him to get on with it.

Jiminy cleared his throat to speak, though Rumpel suspected it was partly out of fear as well. It was barely a squeak, even in the matter of Rumpel's sharpened hearing.

"Hem-hem...uh...we are gathered here today to join together this..."

The cricket hesitated in calling Rumpelstiltskin a man, in which case Rumpel narrowed his otherwordly eyes, veiled with hidden threats. Many people in the Enchanted Forest proposed varying theories as to what Rumpelstiltskin truly was: from a man thirsty for power and dabbling in dark magic to devil-spawn complete with a forked tongue to a deformed crocodile who somehow learned to speak and lusted after newborn babies and innocent maidens alike.

That last one stunk of a not-so-fearsome pirate inconveniently missing a hand.

Jiminy sputtered nervously, hurrying to correct his mistake before evoking the wrath of the Dark One. Little did the cricket know that Rumpel would never chance harming the hopping fellow on this day. Belle would never forgive him.

"...join this Dark One and this woman in holy matrimony," Jiminy finished.

And so the ceremony commenced.

Jiminy praised the ideals of marriage and everlasting love while Rumpel remained enthralled by Belle, drinking in every detail until his chest felt tight and unable to accommodate the weight of his hammering heart. Belle returned his affections with an unwavering glance here and a tender squeeze of his hand there.

Jiminy tilted his head up at Rumpel and dutifully asked if he agreed to take Belle as his wife, to cherish throughout all the rest of his days, until in death they parted ways. Rumpel's attention never once faltered from Belle's shimmering blue eyes.

"I do," Rumpel declared, smiling rather sheepishly at his bride. He had yet to see if she would be so confident. He certainly felt better and more sure of his decision than the day he married Milah. That one was something of an arranged marriage.

This felt right.

"Me, too," Jefferson bellowed, rapidly succumbing to the effects of whatever impure fluid spilled from his flask. Grace shuffled her feet in embarrassment when Jefferson wouldn't quit winking at Belle. In the end, Rumpel had to remind the hatter that he was not the one marrying Belle.

Jiminy skated quickly over the mild dispute, turning to Belle in the same manner as he did Rumpel and kindly inquired whether she agreed to take Rumpelstiltskin as her eternal husband. To Rumpel's ears, the cricket placed emphasis on the agreement part, making it painfully clear that this was solely Belle's choice.

Belle barely blinked.

"I do," she promised in a heartbeat. Rumpel floated on clouds. There was the same determined note in her voice as the night she agreed to go with him forever in order to save her kingdom; there was no changing her mind.

He and Belle then performed the old ritual of sipping from the same goblet. Jefferson tried to take a sip, too. Rumpel had to pry Jefferson away with a hand shoving his face back, the goblet stretched beyond the hatter's reach. Jefferson claimed he was thirsty; Rumpel snapped that he didn't care if Jefferson wasted away in a piping hot desert, that his lips would never touch the rim of that goblet. Eventually the contents poured all over Jiminy.

After everyone settled down-with Rumpel's cheeks flushed more golden than the sinking sun, Jefferson with a refilled flask, and Jiminy using a strip of cloth to dry himself off courtesy of Belle's kindness-the binding moment of the wedding arrived. Bands of gold slipped over their knuckles. Then the words Rumpel had awaited anxiously: "you may kiss the bride."

He gulped. The butterfly storm in his stomach worsened. His fingers slipped over Belle's gentle hands, leading her into his embrace. She studied him expectantly, nodding ever so slightly to tell him everything would turn out alright. _Please don't let me faint, _he prayed to the higher powers that may or may not be listening. _That'll be the one thing Jefferson remembers tomorrow morning. _

Tenderly, he wrapped his arms around Belle's waist and leaned his head down, lightly catching her already parted lips in a chaste kiss. It was electric, it was sweet, and it was perfect in every imaginable way.

He realized then that he had never truly loved another, only Belle. The others-Milah and Cora-they were relationships built on longing and lust, never love in its purest form. Belle returned his kiss without question, her arms circling his neck and her body fitting against his like the piece of the puzzle he had searched so long for.

The swift magical change came over him then, threatening to suck away the darkness in his soul. The sensitivity remained, but he felt his muscles weaken and tremble, he felt his breathing become ragged with exertion, he pictured the lizard-esque quality of his skin melt into warm human flesh. Belle's moan verified as much, her hand trailing across his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut and chained himself to that dark power, refusing to relinuish his hold. The Dark One curse needed a host; he gave himself wholly to its need. He concentrated on the rippling golden hue of his skin, the unsettling amber orbs reflected in the mirror instead of emotional, weary brown ones. The dagger that was inscribed with his true name, the source of all his power. The addictive magic that coursed through his veins. It might have been a cowardly thing to do, sacrifice himself to the influence of the Dark One instead of changing for Belle on his wedding day, but this was the only way he'd ever see Bae again. The only way he could correct his wrongdoings in his son's name.

Belle's sigh told him it worked. He carefully opened his eyes, silently asking her that very question. She smiled sympathetically and kissed his cheek, whispering that he was alright. Belle did not seem to care whether he resembled the Dark One or a human man. She fell into his arms all the same.

Still, as he cradled his bride, he stretched a hand beyond her shoulder and examined it himself. Golden-grey and not the least bit human.

"You're free to go," Rumpel said, shooing his hand toward Jefferson and the cricket. Grace yawned and raced over to her swaying father, the excitement having worn her out. Jefferson's head spun left and right, first looking at Grace and then looking directly next to her, as if he were seeing double.

"I wish you both a long and happy life together," Jiminy said and immediately began hopping for the front doors. No doubt the cricket wanted to be halfway down the mountain before the night creatures emerged. Regina's carriage was enough of a danger during the night.

"I'm not feeling so well. Might not be a good idea for me to walk home," Jefferson mumbled. He peered down into his flask and scratched his head. "Where _is _home?" Grace looked frightened at the idea of spending a single night in the Dark Castle. Rumpel hung his head.

"Allow me to be the designated transporter," he muttered and waved his hand. A flume of purple smoke enveloped both Grace and Jefferson. When it cleared, there wasn't so much as a hair to prove they were there in the first place. Belle stared up at her new husband suspiciously.

"You _did _send them to their home, right?" Rumpel gaped down at her.

"Of course I did! What kind of man do you think I am, dearie? The woods at night is no place for a child," he reassured.

A drunken Jefferson, on the other hand, was fully capable of surviving the walk home through the woods. The hatter jumped through worlds and dealt with vampires, Jabberwocks, and pompous queens for a living, after all. Hell, since he would end up living after getting his head chopped off by Cora in a few months, a couple of bears should be no problem.

Belle opened her mouth to question about Jefferson-her intellectual mind never missed a thing-but Rumpel silenced it with a kiss to her jaw and a little nuzzling of her neck. Was that a purr that rose from his throat?

"Should we head upstairs?" Belle breathed into the shell of his ear as he orally massaged her neck. The thought of consummating their marriage, here and now, made Rumpel's knees weak. It excited him and terrified him at the same time.

"Eager, are we?" He grinned against her skin, gradually shifting when Belle smiled in return. In truth, he was more than a little nervous for the next stage of their promised love. What if he did something wrong? What if he did something Belle didn't like? What if his curse didn't break? What if-

Belle must have sensed his growing trepidation, for she clasped his hand in hers, weaving their fingers together.

"I trust you," she whispered, pressing another kiss to his cheek. It was warmer than the brightest rays of sunshine, more delicate than the gentlest spring rain. "I love you."

Those three words unraveled him completely. The words that neither Milah nor Cora ever spoke, yet Belle unleashed with all her heart. It drew the breath from his lungs, stole the strength from his limbs, made the blood roar through his ears until not a single brush of air could be detected in his castle.

"I love you, too," he bravely returned, the truth behind it ringing clearer than any bell in the entire forest. It was decided. Rumpelstiltskin lifted Belle into his arms, holding her close to his chest as he had the day she fell from the ladder, and carried her up the stairs, carried her all the way to their bedroom.

...

_**Let the wedding bells ring! I hope you all enjoyed that wedding scene and now I wish to send thanks to everyone who reviewed: Huntress4455, Guest45, thedoctorsgirl42, Guest, asalia, Grace5231973, Spinning Folly, Yakibaru, Just 2 Dream of You, AngelofDarkness1605, RaFire, cheesyteal'c, Guest, and SwanQueen4055. I'm glad everyone enjoyed that version of the B&B ballroom scene as well. I won't make any promises in how long it will take me to update the next chapter, but it should be the last one for this story. Thank you all for reading! **_


	10. Together, Forever

_**A/N: Well, here it is. The last chapter of Sensitivity. Though, I may have an idea for an epilogue in the works. It'll be a surprise if I do it, a nice one. I would also like to thank all those that took the time to read and review this story. It means a lot to hear that so many enjoyed it. **_

Rumpel graciously carried Belle up the stairs, all the while enjoying the feel of her head on his shoulder, her body aligning perfectly against his. He still found it mesmerizing that Belle wanted this to happen, that she wanted him in her arms and kissing her endlessly from head to toe. Part of him clung to the theory that if he pinched himself hard enough he would wake in his bed, the victim of a seductive, cruel dream. But he wouldn't pinch himself for exactly two reasons: if this was a dream, he selfishly did not wish it to end; and the pinching would hurt.

After what seemed like an eternity in conquering the hallway of the west wing, Rumpel reached the door of his bedroom, closed as usual to all passersby. Passersby meaning Belle.

"You've only ever been in this room once," he said solemnly. That one time, when she burst into his room to find him nearly drowning in the tub. That one time, when Belle had introduced him to such mind-blowing pleasure unlike any in his sweetest dreams. He glanced down at Belle, who was studying him with such rapture his heart melted. "I swear, I will never lock you out again."

He meant that more than he could convey, though he knew Belle would be clever enough to understand. He would not lock her out of his room; likewise, he vowed never again to lock her out of his heart. It was hers to do with as she pleased.

Flicking his fingers from underneath the folds of Belle's flowing white wedding dress, the bedroom door flew wide open, granting them access.

"Welcome to our bedroom, then," he said, his feet crossing over the threshold. Belle's arms hugged his neck tighter, proving her affection.

He brought Belle to the bed and gently laid her atop the covers. He leaned back to admire his beauty. She stretched langorously, her arms calmly hanging above her head, her dark curls spiraling over the sheets, her body spanning the length of the bed. A blissful smile lingered on her parted lips. She appeared to be so relaxed, so ready...

It was then he hesitated.

"Belle, sweetheart, if you have any last minute doubts about the two of us...doing..._it..._at any time, you can tell me to stop and I will-"

Belle rolled onto her side, her cheek brushing the pillows and her chest rising and falling with ease over the sheets. He could not help but trace the round curve of her hip with his eyes, his tongue feverishly licking his rough lips. She captured his hand in her warm one.

"I've made my choice, Rumpelstiltskin. What's yours?"

Tugging lightly on his hand, she guided him to the edge of the bed. He never had a woman who wanted him so dearly without secret intentions or who cherished him so delicately. He found his body responding to her call, his feet drifting over the cold floor, unable to resist her any longer. He perched one knee on the mattress, gained her approval via an enticing batting of the lashes and a _come-hither _gesture, and then he finished crawling his way into her arms. She gladly accepted him, her arms wrapping around his back and holding him without any intention of letting go. His mouth hovered over her skin and lips, like a bee searching for the sweetest nectar.

"I wish I could kiss you," he moaned as her breath tickled his chin. If he could, he would kiss her until she was the one who fainted. Belle slid her hands over his chest, not in a way of warning him to stop, but in a way that suggested she was memorizing every detail of her soon-to-be lover.

Pulling back the layer of silk-oh, the castle's draftiness!-Belle pushed her body up and her mouth latched fiercely onto his chest, kissing the spot that concealed his throbbing heart. He tossed his head back, a cry of pure ecstasy escaping his throat when her fiery lips dragged across his golden skin to the juncture between his neck and shoulder, her tongue occasionally tasting him.

Black dots swarmed his vision, his mind swam in a whirlpool of emotions, blood rushed and pounded through his ears-

"Rumpel," Belle's tender voice was hardly discernable over the methodic chant of _oh, dearie _that had begun in his head. Her hand cupped his cheek and he struggled to focus on her lovely face amidst the shadows. That lush bottom lip was trapped between her pearly teeth. "Stay with me."

Gods, was he on the verge of fainting again? No, he refused to succumb to the sensitivity. Tonight he would escape its claws. Tonight he would prove his love to Belle.

"I'm here, my love," he whispered huskily. Oh, the maddening effect this woman had on him physically and mentally. Gently, he prodded her shoulders, instructing her to lay back atop the pillows. "I'm here and I shall not be leaving until you are wholly satisfied, whatever that may entail." He would hold her all night long, he would love her more tenderly than any living man could love a woman, he would worship her on his knees tonight.

Gathering his courage, he leaned down and pressed his lips to her reddening cheek, generously tasting the apple and infinitely craving more. His nose buried into her rich hair, inhaling her fragrance until he swooned. The line of her jaw, the lobe of her ear, the swan-like contours of her neck, the hollow of her throat-his lips devoured every inch of Belle.

He figured out which pressure points made her moan (a lick of the throat here and a nuzzle of the thigh there) and he would repeat the actions just to savor the sound of her pleasure. Most amazing to him was the part where Belle rolled her head back onto the pillow, giving him further access to her white throat.

Belle's hands delved under his silk shirt, begging him to part with it. At the same time, she allowed his hands to explore freely, to do all he desired with her body. Just to encourage him along, she shrugged her shoulder and the hem of her dress dipped, teasing him with the strip of flesh above her breast. Rumpel's eyes widened in awe of her willing behavior, but he was immediately snagged under her enchantment, bending his head to suckle the soft skin above her breast.

She tasted so good. Belle was a dessert of extraordinary means that would never settle on his pallate, instead exploding and gushing inside his mouth with a blend of flavors. There weren't even any names to describe the flavors; they were simply the most delicious that Rumpel ever experienced.

Every now and then, Rumpel had to pause to gasp for air and blink the black spots from his vision, heady as he was from the stimuli, but Belle did not seem to mind that he was taking his time. That is, until her thigh gloriously snaked around his waist.

"My turn," she murmured, breath coming heavily. Using her thigh, she shoved him backwards onto the bed. Rumpel's fingers clenched the sheets as Belle straddled his hips. "You look like you're about to pass out above me. For now, let me handle the work. I'll be gentle-I promise."

And she was gentle, in every possible way. Whenever Belle set off a particularly sensitive nerve-a stroke of the leg here and a caress of the chest there-he shivered, trembled, and convulsed with pleasure, his back arching in request for more. Her kisses landed on his neck, chest, shoulders, and stomach with the delicacy of butterfly wings. Her fingers threaded through his wiry hair, rubbing his jaw, playing with the buttons of his shirt. His own hand held Belle's head, the other arm resting around her waist, his way of telling her never to stop. The protection of his clothing was shed from his chest, though it opened him up to Belle's warmth. Rumpelstiltskin failed to remember a time where he felt this complete.

"I need you," he whispered into her ear the next time her head lowered to graze his jaw. He had known that for a while now, but this was the first time he allowed himself to appreciate the truth. His bravery was increasing little by little, his hand daring to skate up Belle's back. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she reciprocated automatically. That admission alone was the key in the lock, sealing the deal.

Together they rolled back and forth over the bed, together they explored each other's bodies and discovered the precise spots to bring the most pleasure. Together, they became one, thriving as they never could whilst living separate lives.

Fireworks erupted inside Rumpel's head, an array of magical colors illuminating his vision. The warmest of sensations filled him from the hair on his head to the tips of his toes. For a moment, the moment where he finally came together with Belle, everything went stark white and all he could hear was the sound of his own voice screaming her name. Every muscle in his body went numb, the wheels in his brain stopped cranking, his heart ceased to beat.

Was he dead? Had the stimuli finally triumphed over him?

The intense white faded, darkening into the blackest of black. It was blacker than Snow White's coal-shaded hair. He must be dead. The stimuli of climbing to such heights with Belle became his undoing.

Then Rumpel twitched one of his hands and he was aware of someone tracing their thumb over his palm. There was the solid bed underneath his bare back. There was a heavy weight on his chest, but he found that it rose when he sucked in a breath. And the darkness...oh, he simply had to open his eyes.

Belle was the weight atop his chest, her head nuzzling into his skin and her remarkable blue eyes watching him with concern. She didn't say anything; she seemed to be waiting for something. Everything was so dark in the room, darker than he remembered when he carried Belle over the threshold. The next thing he noticed was that it was quiet. It was only when he strained his hearing that he caught the rhythm of her breath, but...not her heart. It must be pounding after their joruney together between the sheets, but its sound was kept a secret from him.

He couldn't hear.

He couldn't see. Gods, he was practically blind!

That meant...

"Belle," he whispered in wonder, his brain sluggishly working to decipher the situation. He scratched his head, but his nails no longer irritated the scalp. His voice wasn't so high-pitched and unpleasant to his ears. Belle's smell was regrettably fainter than a few moments before. "Belle, I...I think you did it. You broke my curse. My sensitivity curse, anyhow. It's gone."

He was free. All thanks to Belle, he was free.

Belle kissed his chest and it made him shiver, though not so violently as when he suffered from oversensitivity. Still, it was a very pleasurable feeling.

"It takes two to tango, you silly man," she corrected, laughing. Oh, he loved that laugh. And her humming-he didn't care if she spent the entire day humming! He would gladly pull up a chair and sip some tea while she performed every song her heart knew. Now, he pulled her tighter into his embrace and caressed her cheek.

"Thank you," he exclaimed. For thr first time in the past three centuries, he felt genuinely happy. They could be together, forever, if that was what she wished. Nothing would prevent him from enjoying his beauty now, save for the wretched Dark One curse. Whatever challenges arose, they would face them as one entity.

Belle smiled modestly.

"Let's do it again," she pleaded. And he did not hesitate to acquiesce, taking Belle into the circle of his arms once more. This time, he promised never to let her go.

...

_**There you go, Rumpel's sensitivity curse has been broken and Rumbelle is happily intact. (-; As for that epilogue...we'll see. **_

_**Shout-outs go to all those that reviewed recently, for your kind words certainly inspire my writing: Huntress4455, Mini Nicka, Just 2 Dream of You, Grace5231973, MyraValhallah, The Lark, Guest, asalia, cheesyteal'c, RoxyMoron, Drac1026, Guest45, Revenessa, 9aza, AngelofDarkness1605, and SwanQueen4055. Thank you everyone for reading! Long live Rumbelle. **_


	11. Happily Ever After

_**A/N: Remember that epilogue I was thinking about doing? Well, here it is. Two chapters in one day-you guys should consider yourselves lucky. I hope you enjoy this little bit of Rumbelle fluff. I think they deserve it. **_

The morning sunlight filtered through the sheer linen curtains, slinked across the fine wood floorboards, mounted the king-size bed, and finally settled on the two entangled bodies beneath the blood-red silk sheets. Belle stirred from sleep, blinking against the rays of light and stretching her arms above her head. She knew her husband was awake, even though his eyelids still shielded his endless brown eyes. She knew because his fingers were caressing her belly.

Weaving her fingers through his own, she tilted her head and kissed him deeply on the lips, telling him _good morning _in her special way. His eyelids parted and she dove headfirst into those sensual pools of chocolate. A sly smile claimed his lips and he returned her kiss, pressing her body back against the mattress as he did so.

After all these years together, he still had the power to unravel her as no other man could. Ironically, he often confessed that she had the same effect on him.

"Good morning to you, too," he lilted, his accent thick from the heaviness of their kiss. He gingerly peeled the sheets back to expose her belly, round and full with child. Bending his head, his lips placed a small kiss upon that tender portion of her body. "The same goes to you in there, little one."

"Must you go to work this morning? It can't wait until this afternoon?" Belle never liked being apart from her husband for too long. Every day they ate breakfast together and met at Granny's Diner to share a bit of lunch. Every day he came home to be welcomed into her arms. Every day felt like the first and last between them.

Her husband offered her a remorseful look, using a finger to tip her chin to his mouth.

"I'm afraid I must, my love," he moaned. He enjoyed the separation about as much as she did. "Ever since this curse broke, all thanks to our blessed savior, there are plenty of people still seeking help from the former Dark One." Even if he no longer had magic at his disposal, many of his bottled potions and spells were stored in the back room of his shop to aid the people of Storybrooke.

He groaned and pulled himself onto the edge of the bed. One of his hands massaged the ache from his bad leg. Soon after they had arrived in Storybrooke, she had broken his Dark One curse with true love's kiss. It had returned the limp to his leg, but he endured it, insisting it was a price he was willing to pay to be with Belle without the crutch of magic. Besides, Belle had proven skillful in relieving his pain during the night.

A small cry arose from somewhere down the hall. Belle instinctively sat up in bed and Rumpel peered at her over his shoulder, still rubbing his leg.

"It's your turn," he said, winking.

"My turn," Belle agreed, tossing the covers back. "In that case, do me a favor-"

"Anything," he eagerly promised. Whatever it was, he would grant it if he had the power, even if she asked for the world. Belle arched an eyebrow in challenge.

"Get Bae up for school," she finished. Rumpel hung his head. He should have seen that one coming.

He and his son still had some rough patches to work out and this was Belle's way of offering them some time alone. However, as a teenager, getting Bae up usually required some commanding, some tugging of the feet, and at worst a bucket of ice cold water. Belle decided to leave him to his thoughts on how best to proceed into battle.

She gradually rose to her feet and, with a hand protecting her extended belly, made her way into the hallway, to a room not far from their own. She edged open the door and wandered inside, making a beeline for the white crib in the center. Scooping up her one-and-a-half year old into her arms, she cradled him to her breast.

"Good morning, sweetheart," she cooed, stroking his head. The hair atop that head had the thickness that belonged to his father. The boy began to cry out again and she gently soothed him down, her finger tracing his cheek. "Mama's here. Nothing will ever hurt you, not with your papa and I around. I promise."

Belle craned her neck to kiss her son's head. Behind her, the door opened and she turned around to see Bae's curly head poke into the room. He was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, but thankfully there was no reason for the bucket of water today.

"Hey, Belle, do you mind if we have chocolate chip pancakes today? Miss Ginger's giving a test in class and I don't want to be the kid whose stomach growls during the middle of it."

"You'll have to ask your father. It's his turn to cook breakfast and you know it," she replied lightly. Bae frowned with disappointment.

"Whenever he cooks, it's always his way or no way," Bae grumbled and his head disappeared, the door closing firmly behind him.

Belle thought back to the day she first met Baelfire. Together, she and Rumpelstiltskin had crossed the border and found Bae in an orphanage in New York. At first, he was a little reluctant to get to know his father's girlfriend, especially since he had personal issues with his father in the first place. Even now, he still had trouble calling her _Mom_, but he had warmed up to her in many other ways.

Belle hummed a lullaby to her little one, swaying with him gently in her arms. Once more, the door opened, this time quieter. She knew exactly who it was without turning around. He limped to her side and placed a hand on the small of her back, casting doe-eyes at their son over her shoulder.

"It seems Bae wants chocolate chip pancakes this morning. Of course, he tells me _after _I start cooking the waffles." Belle laughed softly, then continued humming. His breath warmed her ear as he nuzzled his face into her neck. "I love the sound of your humming."

If this was a hook, she bit it without thinking twice.

"Oh, really? I remember there was a time you _hated _the sound of my humming, Rumpelstiltskin," she remarked. Truth be told, those days in the Dark Castle were some of the happiest days of her life and she knew Rumpel would say the same. He gasped dramatically.

"I didn't hate it! It just drove me up the wall because I secretly fancied you, even though I never realized at that point that I fancied you," he argued. She loved to see him become worked up in her name. She pecked his cheek and he returned to admiring their baby. It focused on its father's face and splayed its small hand over Rumpel's cheek. Rumpel's lips inevitably split into an endearing smile.

"Thankfully, he inherited his mother's eyes," he said. Those crystal blue eyes reflected with innocent brilliance, roving over the environment in wonder. Belle never complained about Rumpel's eyes in either world, not when they were capable of expressing so much love.

"My eyes and his father's charm. I can see it now: this one will be a natural heartbreaker," she commented.

Bae called from downstairs and Rumpel suddenly remembered the waffles. He kissed his wife passionately one more time. Ever since his curse broke, he found any excuse to kiss Belle on the lips and always did it passionately, never taking one for granted.

At the threshold of the bedroom, he paused to observe his beautiful wife and his young son. Belle had begun singing again, the heartfelt notes resonating with the beating of his heart. Never could he ask for more to make him happier. For so long, he had been trapped by the influence of magic, when he truly never needed it at all. His family, Belle-they were enough.

Rumpel would be the first to admit he made many mistakes in his life, but the sensitivity curse of long ago had proven to be the best mistake he ever made.

...

_**Okay, it's officially over now. Sensitivity is all wrapped up. Here's to hoping everyone enjoyed it. And I already have people to thank for reviews for last chapter: Revenessa, SwanQueen4055, Guest45, 9aza, AngelofDarkness1605, asalia, cheesyteal'c, and RaFire. I appreciate every word you've given me. **_


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